Viva New Vegas
by Cressida Isolde
Summary: Running a city is a lot harder than it seems, especially one like New Vegas. The Courier contends with assassination attempts, power grabs, and the past catching back up with her. Postgame. A story about love, loss, and living with your decisions. F!Courier/Boone. Third in 'If I Didn't Care' series. Completed.
1. Bright Light City Gonna Set My Soul

THIS IS NOT AN INK SPOTS TITLE :(

This is the third in what has somehow become a series. It'll probably make more sense if you read _If I Didn't Care_ and then _When It Comes To The End Of The Day_ first, but in case you totally cbf, here is the situation: Courier is currently running New Vegas with Benny, and has just returned from a rather unpleasant trip to the Sierra Madre to find her beloved city on fire and has no idea why.

* * *

New Vegas was burning. Thick smoke rose from behind the city walls.

"What the fucking _fuck_?" The Courier couldn't even think properly.

Boone and the Courier circled around the city. Westside was deserted, a ghost town. They slipped through the streets, looking for someone, anyone, a single person who could explain what was happening.

The Courier pushed open an unlocked door with the barrel of her pistol, and jumped when she noticed a hulking shape in the corner, facing the wall.

"M-mean Sonofabitch, is that you?" she asked. "What the fuck happened here?"

"Mm," he said. "O-boss."

"O... boss?" she repeated, perplexed.

He shook his head. "W-wh-wo-boss," he explained.

The Courier blinked at him. "Right," she said. "Okay. Thanks."

She was almost out the door again, but turned back. "Get somewhere safe," she said to the super mutant.

They circled around the city, giving the walls a wide berth. The neon Freeside light was off, even though the light was already fading from the sky.. And the bright neon arrow that pointed to the gate was gone completely. She could feel her muscles tensing. This was wrong.

They approached the entrance to the North Vegas Square. They'd have to get in somehow. They walked cautiously down the old road, empty brick buildings on either side.

They were almost at the gate when the shelling started.

The first missile hit the ground less than ten feet away, almost before she realised they were being fired on, pelting them with tiny hot shards of metal and chunks of concrete.

"Move!" yelled Boone, but she was running already, back to the abandoned buildings for cover. Missile blasts buffeted her as she ran, deafening her. There was no pattern or rhythm to the assault, just a constant, heavy barrage. It seemed to come from all angles.

She nearly fell as her foot skidded on loose rubble, but managed to catch herself against the wall and rounded the corner.

She looked around. Boone. Where was Boone? Panic flooded her as she looked around wildly, twisting to see if he'd been hit or fallen or-

A stone hit her shoe. She stared at it. The next stone bounced off her arm.

She looked up to see Boone at the corner of the building opposite the one she was sheltering behind. He held up a hand. She waved back. He pointed at her, stood up, and stepped out of cover cautiously.

Nothing happened.

He walked across the open ground and crouched next to where she was sitting.

"Out of range?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said. "Could just be they wanted to scare us off."

"Who the fuck _is_ it?"

He shrugged. "Boomers? Seems familiar."

It did. Fond memories of sprinting in between ruined buildings, leaping over the corpses of those that hadn't made it.

"If Pearl has fucked me over I'm going to make her eat that entire bomber," she said.

"Still kind of surprised we didn't get hit," said Boone, looking back at the cratered highway.

"Luck," she said absently, then turned to look back at the road. He was right. They _hadn't_ been hit. At all.

He narrowed his eyes. "Seemed to me that the Boomers aren't the 'friendly warning' type," he said. "Could be wrong though."

She chewed on her thumbnail. "Who does that leave?"

"Who can you think of who wants the city but doesn't want to kill you for it?"

She laughed. "You mean Benny? Benny _would_ kill me for it. First person I eliminated."

"Who else?" he asked. He tilted his head towards the east. "Come on."

They broke cover tentatively, tense and poised to retreat. Nothing happened.

"Doesn't really seem like NCR tactics," she said. "Brotherhood?" She paused. "Could be."

"Not enough explosive collars," muttered Boone.

She grinned, delighted. "Pity," she said. "I was getting kind of used to them, too. Kind of comforting, you know, knowing that someone's got their finger on the button just for you."

He laughed quietly. "I think they know we're out here," he said. "Is there another way in? Sewers?"

She shook her head. "No, they're sealed weirdly. Because of the fiends. There are entrances all through the ruins down the I-15, they were blocked off ages ago to stop them popping up in the middle of the Strip all at once."

He sighed. "Always gotta do things the hard way with you," he said, but his smile made it into a joke. "Let's get into the city through the north gate," he said. "That old highway overheard should provide some cover from missile attacks.

They skirted around the buildings, and crouched in the dust behind an overturned car skeleton, some distance away from the north gate to Freeside.

"Got any stealthboys?" Boone asked.

She handed him three. "I don't know why I always carry around so many. They're so _heavy_."

He took one, smiled at her, and activated the stealth field. "See you inside," he said.

She activated her own stealth field and set off towards the gate. The short stretch from the car to the gate seemed immense. The Courier expected a hail of missiles to come down on them at any moment.

Opening the gate was tough work while trying to stay hidden – the gates were large and metal and heavy. Boone grasped one, crouched, and swung it open, using it as cover for anything that might be inside.

The Courier's first glimpse into her city nearly broke her heart. So many of the buildings she'd spent so long on restoring were destroyed, charcoal husks that smoked gently in the evening air. There was what was possibly a body lying just outside the entrance to the Old Mormon Fort.

She saw Boone's flickering form back away from the entrance hurriedly. A moment later, a securitron rolled out of the gate. There was something odd about it, but she couldn't figure out what.

She approached the gate as quickly as she could without attracting attention, grateful for the growing cover of darkness.

She slipped behind the securitron and through the gate, narrowly avoiding walking straight into another securitron that was following the first out the gate.

She headed up the street towards the Fort. The noise of tyre treads on the rough concrete seemed to be getting further away, and a glance over her shoulder showed her that both securitrons were outside the city walls.

Right. This was probably as good a chance as they'd get. She tugged on the huge wooden double doors, but they wouldn't budge.

Boone was a flicker next to her, pulling on the door alongside her. "Damn it," he breathed. "Locked."

She risked a glance over her shoulder. The securitrons had completed their examination of the area outside the gate and were returning to their posts just inside the doors. Shit.

"It's good though, right?" she whispered. "Locked means someone had to lock themselves in there."

"It means that someone locked themselves in there at some point," he said. "Don't forget, they've got missiles. Is it still all tents in there?"

She frowned, trying to remember the last time she'd read a report on the Followers' funding. "I think I built them a proper building to house the auto-docs," she said.

"That's good," he said. "You might want to get behind the sign just there."

"Wha-?"

She was cut off as he pounded on the heavy wooden doors. "Anyone in there?" he called.

"Oh what the _fuck_?" She backed away from the gates, drawing what now seemed to be a woefully inadequate pistol.

The securitrons were rolling towards them, perplexed, raising their missile arrays for an attack. She squeezed off all the bullets in her pistol, aiming for the wheels. One of the shots was lucky and blew out the tyres. One securitron toppled to the ground, briefly delaying the second.

She could hear noises behind the door, wood scraping against wood as they tried to unbar the gate. She pressed herself flat against the wall, hoping the stealthboy field would be harder to see if she didn't move.

She jumped as a volley of laser fire seared the wall next to her head. That hadn't even come from the securitron she was watching. She turned to see a group of the machines converging at the end of the street. She raised her pistol, but didn't fire. She lowered it again. She couldn't possibly take on all of them.

The gate to the fort scraped open, barely enough for a person to fit through.

Boone grabbed her wrist, still holding the pistol, and yanked her inside.

The door slammed closed behind them.


	2. Gonna Set My Soul on Fire

If I Didn't Care has just hit thirty _thousand_ hits. You _guys_ *_*

* * *

The Courier slid down to the ground against the gate, breathing heavily. She braced herself, expecting a missile attack over the walls or just straight through the doors, but none came.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She raised her head to see Arcade looking down at her, arms folded. There were ten or twenty people gathered in the courtyard behind him, watching.

"In retrospect," he continued. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you chose to make a dramatic entrance, but I must say, you left it a little later than I would really have thought _polite_."

She looked down at herself, the stealth field flickering as it died. She shook her head. "How long has this been going on?" she asked.

He tilted his head to the side. "You haven't been in New Vegas?"

"No." She shook her head. "Now what the fuck is happening?" She climbed to her feet.

He sighed and let his arms drop to his sides. "We don't know," he said. "We've been trapped in here for over a week." He sighed. "On that note, you don't happen to have any food with you by any chance, do you? We're running extremely low."

She shrugged off her pack and crouched to search through it. "Oh yeah." She pulled out a stack on snack cakes. "It's mostly pre-war stuff I can't stand the sight of any more." She took out a handful of crushed boxes of Dandy Boy apples and dropped them next to the cakes, and then several cans of pork and beans.

"That'll... help, actually," said Arcade, eyeing the growing pile.

"Do you need stimpaks?" asked the Courier, going through her bag.

"No, actually," he said. "The auto-docs are sufficient for anything that comes up." He hesitated. "To be honest, none of us have been very badly hurt since all this started."

She turned to look up at him slowly, eyes narrowed.

"They've been," he continued. "Very _insistent_ on us not leaving... But they don't seem to want to hurt us. You'll notice they stopped firing once you were inside. They're probably not too happy that you're in here, but..." he sighed. "But not unhappy enough to come in after you."

"Are they-" she began. "Are they worried about hurting the people in here? Collateral damage?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Could be. Like I said, we don't know who it is or what they want. When the shooting started, last... Monday? Last week, anyway, there was initially a large influx of people coming in here. And then silence. No one's made it in until you."

"So you've had no communication with anyone else?" she asked, horrified. She felt almost sick. "No contact at all? Nothing?"

He shook his head. "I'm guessing – hoping, really – that others will be holed up in pockets like us." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. "But I just don't know."

She looked up at the clouds as they passed overhead, purple in the twilight.

"Alright," she said, finally. "I want someone to get to the Dam and tell them to cut off power to the city, and radio to the El Dorado substation to do the same. There's a reactor under the 38, but hopefully the sudden power loss will give us a couple of hours to-"

"Stop," said Arcade. He held out a hand. "Just- stop. Why are you telling me this? We can't _leave_. If you want to head out again, fine, but we're not capable of running errands for you."

She blinked at him. "Right," she said. "Yeah."

Boone put a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him, frowning.

"What we need," he said, more to Arcade than her, "is something to take them out with. Pulse grenades are probably a good place to start, but they're not going to get us far."

Arcade looked from Boone, to the Courier, and then back to Boone. He sighed. "If you bring me, say, five or ten pulse grenades, or pulse mines, and some copper wiring then I could maybe make something approaching an EMP bomb. Depending on how well-organised whoever's behind all this is, it might give you an hour or a day."

"Thanks," said the Courier warily.

He made an impatient gesture with his hand. "It's fine. The sooner we get out of this, the better."

The Courier watched him as he walked back into the clinic office. She looked sideways at Boone. "Silver Rush?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Lets give it a few hours though, let the security cool down a little."

"Good idea," she said. "I could do with a fucking rest anyway. I'll set my alarm for 4am."

Boone nodded.

* * *

The early morning air was cold against her face. The Courier cracked open the gate and looked down the street. Deserted, except for the two securitrons posted by the gates, but the light was low enough that they probably couldn't detect her. She activated the stealthboy on her wrist, then slipped out the narrow gap, waving at Boone to follow her.

"Why can't we just shoot them?" he grumbled.

The Courier's first instinctive answer to that was _because they're mine_, but she didn't say it.

"Depending on who's running the network at the moment," she said, as they hugged the wall, heading further into Freeside. "They might be able to see when one gets destroyed. I don't want to attract more attention than we have to."

As she rounded the corner, a burst of movement right beside her made her leap backwards, bumping into Boone and nearly toppling both of them.

"Rat," Boone said quietly, reassuringly. "Just a rat."

She watched it as it ran away down the empty street, and tried to slow her heart rate down by taking long slow breaths. New Vegas didn't look like her city anymore. It was unfamiliar, almost alien. The comforting neon glow was gone, and the streets, normally humming even this late at night, were deserted and silent. It was as dark as the wasteland, and even more deserted.

She crossed the road bent low, close to the ground, and flattened herself against the boarded up building opposite.

There were no patrols. That was the strangest thing. She'd been expecting someone to start shooting nearly the second she'd left the gate. But there was nothing. No sound of tyre treads on the rough concrete, no footsteps or yelling. It was a ghost town.

The blue carriage double doors opened with a shriek of metal. She tensed. Surely they'd weren't that loud normally. They stumbled through the dark carriage and ran, only stopping briefly to check for securitrons before ducking under the shelter of the crumbling doorway next to the Atomic Wrangler.

The Silver Rush sign had fallen, the neon tubes lying shattered on the street below. They crept around the broken glass carefully, and tried the door. It was unlocked.

The shop interior was an inky black she could almost feel. The Courier paused for a second, listening. Nothing. She turned on her pip-boy light. The shop was in disarray, abandoned in a hurry. The protective wire cage around the shop floor had been pulled off in places. Laser rifles were lying discarded on the ground, grenades had rolled carelessly into corners.

She walked tentatively down to the front counter. Most of the pulse grenades had been taken, but the pulse mines had been passed over. After checking to make sure they really hadn't been armed, she picked them up to put them in her bag.

"Please tell me you're not a hallucination, angel."

Her hand flew to her gun, and she looked around wildly.

"Over here." A weary laugh.

She held up her arm to spread the light, and finally saw him, slumped against the wall next by the slot machines, one hand held up to block the light from his eyes.

"Benny!" she exclaimed. The bag slipped to the floor as she abandoned it, and she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Holy shit, what the fuck is go-" she stopped. His suit jacket was pocked with scorch marks. "Are you – are you hurt?"

He waved a hand. "I've had worse sunburns," He said dismissively, but his voice was strained.

She caught his hand and gently pulled it away from his face. An angry pink scar, burnt into smooth scar tissue, ran almost from his eye to his ear.

"_Shit_," she breathed. "Benny..."

"That good, huh?" he tried to smile. "Think it'll scar?"

She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head. "We can-" she swallowed thickly. "We can get that taken care of. Auto-docs-"

"Baby," he said, lifting a hand towards her face. He let it drop without touching her. "Don't tell me you're getting sentimental over the Ben-Man."

"Do you need m-med-x? I've got..."

"Fuck yes," he said. "If you could just mix that up in a glass with vermouth and a couple olives, you'd make me a very happy man."

She gave him a shaky smile and slid the needle of the syringe into a vein in his wrist. The tension seemed to drain out of him.

"Yeah," he said indistinctly. "That's better. Thanks."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Same thing as you, I'd say. Pulse grenades? Plus, you'll have noticed the steps on the way in. The securitron's one natural enemy."

She couldn't stop a smile. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long. A day, maybe. I only just managed to get out of the goddamn presidential suite. Fucker had me on lockdown for a week. It's not the worst place to be stuck, but Jesus _Christ_ it gets boring. I decided to make a break for it and was... well. Moderately successful."

"_Who_ kept you in lockdown?" she asked. "Who the fuck is behind all this? I have no fucking idea what's going on."

"It's a little embarrassing, really," he said, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. "Do you recall a certain securitron I had reprogrammed?"

She narrowed her eyes. "The smiley face one? I always thought he was a little creepy."

"Well, good instinct. He reprogrammed himself and decided we weren't running the city right... so decided to make an executive decision and replace us." He rolled his eyes. "He was fairly polite about it, though."

"He's had a fucking long time to get used to the network," said the Courier ruefully. "He'll be able to see everything that goes on." She sighed. "Did you have a plan?"

Benny laughed. "_Fuck_ no. I have no fucking idea how we're going to get the city back. Maybe we should just all move to fucking New Reno."

"Shit," she said. "If I give you some stims, can you walk? We've got to get back to the Followers, Arcade's going to build us a bomb."

"Yeah," he said. "Alright. Maybe that broad who helped me program that damn securitron could figure out some way to get around his security." He stood up slowly, leaning against the wall for support.

The Courier turned back to the door. Boone was watching her strangely. "Come on," she said. "Let's get back to the Fort."


	3. Got a Whole Lot of Money

I secretly really _really_ like the Dead Kennedy's cover version of the title song. It's so manic!

Saying that, however, Rebecca Black has been stuck in my head for DAYS. Since Friday in fact (lol)

* * *

She dumped the bag of pulse weaponry at Arcade's feet.

He frowned. "Careful."

"They're not armed." She shrugged.

He looked like he was going to say something, but let it go. "How about that copper wire?"

"_Fuck_." She ran her hands over her face. "Shit. I completely forgot about it." She sighed. "Look, I gotta go check on Benny, I'll get back to you on that."

She left, scowling. She'd been so distracted by Benny that she'd completely missed one of the two goddamn things he'd asked her to find. She rubbed her eyes. She should never have left. Never.

She took a seat inside the clinic building, in the room full of auto-docs, her foot tapping gently on the ground. After what seemed like forever, she heard the quiet click and hiss of air escaping that signalled that an operation was complete. She stood up, impatiently.

"So. Baby," Benny said, smiling at her weakly. "Give it to me straight – how do I look?"

She grinned. "Normal," she said. "Great. Perfect. Fine."

"I am," he said "Delighted to hear it. And now that I can actually think again, how did the resort lifestyle treat you? You look great, by the way. Have you lost weight?"

She laughed. "No. It was terrible. You were right. Poison air and monsters that didn't stay dead and a billion fucking snack cakes. I'll tell you more about it once we sort this shit out though. What's going on?"

"Ah, hell," he said. "I still haven't figured out why the hell this all went down."

She frowned. "So he just went crazy on you?"

"Well," he said. "First things first. We need to take him out, not worry about the whys or the hows. Let's go find that doctor, see if she can help de-program him."

He set off and she found herself hurrying to keep up.

Emily Ortal clearly wasn't impressed that Benny was asking for her help again.

"The only reason I am even _considering_ doing this for you," she said, scowling. "Is that we are all in the shit if nothing gets done. I still think you're a jackass."

"And you are perfectly entitled to hold an opinion like that, honey," he replied, lighting a cigarette. "That's freedom for you. That's what we're fighting for today."

Emily rolled her eyes. The Courier took over.

"Yes Man has control over the cities' securitrons, access to, uh, monitoring data of some sort? I never really asked him for more information when he'd talk about projections and modelling and stuff."

"He's got a finger in every pie," said Benny grimly. "I'm not sure that the whole city won't come down along with him."

Emily tapped her pen against her teeth. "Okay," she said. "So you need essential systems to be maintained but not be controllable by him."

"That's about the size of it," said the Courier. "Doable or not doable?"

"Well, I think what I could do," she said, thoughtfully, "is write a program – a virus, if you want to call it that – that would keep base functions online but continuously reset his control over all of them so he doesn't get a chance to mobilise the securitrons or any other measures. I don't think I can be any more specific than that without knowing more details of your setup. I am working without much information on how House's system was set up, here." She shot a venomous glance at Benny.

"Would we be able to talk to him?" asked the Courier.

"Yeah, I think so. I don't know if I could code something that would take him down permanently without seeing how the whole network is set up properly."

"Okay," she said. "Do it. How do we get this thing into him?"

"You still have that chip, baby?" Benny asked. "That'd be ideal. Even has a slot right on the dashboard."

She laughed self-consciously. "Yeah. I keep it as kind of a good luck charm now." She handed it to Emily.

"Thanks," she said. "Come back in a few hours, see where I'm up to."

Benny and the Courier walked out of the computer labs.

"You got a bad habit of screwing people over, Benny," the Courier said, looking sideways at him.

He grinned lazily. "You mean I got a bad habit of not tying up my loose ends," he said. He lit a cigarette.

"I _mean_ you leave a trail of severely pissed off people wherever you go."

"Would you rather I left a trail of bodies?" He raised an eyebrow sorrowfully. "That's cold."

"Fuck," she said. "I know I'd rather have been held up at gunpoint than shot for that damn chip."

"Honey, baby," he said. "You put up a hell of a fight. Almost disembowelled one of them with a knife you pulled out of nowhere. You weren't giving that package up."

She froze. "What?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "You're a little scrapper. You don't think I'd kill someone if I didn't have to, do you?"

She looked up at him in disbelief. "Yeah, I do. This is bullshit."

He shrugged. "You can ask the Khans that were with me."

She narrowed her eyes. "I told them to take a hike back before things at the Dam got serious."

"Oh, yeah. So you did." He smiled. "Well, you can believe me or not. Don't matter to me."

She was silent for a moment. "I can knife fight?"

"Well, you're no expert, dollface. But you're pretty damn fast."

"Yeah," she said, uneasily. "Okay. Talk to you later."

She left, hurriedly. It seemed like he was intentionally trying to keep her off-balance. God-fucking-damn it. She needed a break already, and she'd only just gotten back. She wanted a drink, and then thinking about _that_ made her wish desperately that Cass was still safe in New Reno. The Followers didn't seem to have much in the way of alcohol – she squashed the stray thought that whispered about what else they might have. Still, she had more problems to solve. She headed back to the laboratory where Arcade had been working.

"I don't even know where to look for copper wire," she said.

"Well," said Arcade. "Old buildings. Telephone wires. You could probably get a decent amount out of a few radios or a securitron, but easiest would be buildings."

She frowned, uneasy about going back outside. But she knew it probably couldn't be too hard - she'd seen hundreds of abandoned buildings in freeside, darkened windows and cables hanging from the roof. She reached over her shoulder to touch the holorifle on her back, heavy and comforting. Hopefully she wouldn't have to use it. She was running pretty fucking low on stealthboys, but hopefully she wouldn't even need them for much longer.

"Okay," she said, finally. "I'll be back soon."

The sun was still high in the sky when she left the compound, stealth field shimmering gently. She pressed herself against the stone wall as a securitron patrol wheeled past, bumping gently over the rough concrete road. They were a lot more active in the daytime. The distance to the abandoned building just across the road seemed impossibly large. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and stepped out into the street. She moved smoothly, as fast as she could to get across, and leaped through the empty window just as another patrol was coming around the corner.

Long-dead wires hung from the ceiling, and she pulled her knife out to cut each one open to see what it was. She selected a thick copper cable coated in black plastic, and pulled on it gently. It didn't take much to loosen its hold from the ceiling and down through the wall, spraying bits of plaster as it came out. She pulled until it disappeared into the floor and wouldn't move any more, and then cut it and looped it around her arm.

She looked down. Stealth field still active. Good. She checked both ways, quickly, before climbing out of the window and almost running across the road, stealthboy flickering as it died.

She handed the loops of thick wire to Arcade proudly.

"Great," he said. "Give me a hand with wrapping this ."

Arcade handed her a grey metal box, and began wrapping the wire tightly around it, covering it in thick rows of copper.

"Well," said Arcade. "This is it." He took it from her and lowered the bomb to the table gently. He placed a detonator beside it.

She looked up at him. "It'll take him out?"

"For a little while, at least." He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You'd better be prepared for when he does come back online. And if you want to keep your pip-boy working, you'd better stay way out of range." He sighed. "Good luck," he said. The Courier thought she detected an undertone of hopelessness in his voice.

It was almost midnight when Benny left, the bomb in hand and with another of her stealthboys. Benny had said he'd go alone, which made sense because of how much she relied on her damn pip-boy, but it didn't quite sit right with her. She couldn't stop worrying about how bright the moon was, or if Benny was going the right way, or if the securitrons had been watching them all along and were waiting for this moment to attack. But Benny was... well, resourceful. She was sure he could handle it. She just had to stop thinking about it. Distract herself somehow.

Boone was in the older part of the fort when the Courier found him. The kid she'd recommended leave the Khans and join the Followers was standing in front of him, reading aloud from a book she could see was full of messy scribbled writing.

"Think I could have a minute?" she asked. Jerry nodded, shut the book, and left.

She grinned at Boone. "He's kind of a strange kid," she said. "Very earnest. How you holding up?"

Boone looked away. "Alright."

She leaned against the wall next to him. "Not quite the welcome I was expecting."

"Yeah."

She paused, and leaned a little closer. "Are you – is everything okay?"

He stared at the ground between his feet, then looked up at her "Anything ever happen between you and Benny?" His voice was almost a growl in the silence.

She laughed, confused. "Benny? Of course n-" She broke off, too late realising how wrong she was. She bit her lip.

Boone took his sunglasses off, and for the first time since she'd first asked him how he knew his wife was dead she felt the full force of his glare.

"No!" she said, taking an involuntary step back. "I mean, it was before that. Before anything... happened with us."

The anger on his face faded to confusion. "What?" he asked, voice clipped and tightly under control. "When?"

"Before the Dam," she began shakily. "Before... anything. Before we killed Caesar-"

"When the hell did you have the goddamn _time_ to-" He couldn't finish. She noticed his hands were clenched into fists by his side. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand up straight, shoulders back.

"I went over to the Tops to get the Chip," she said through clenched teeth. "And I was drunk, and lonely, and I-" she sighed, frustrated. "And I made a mistake."

"And you thought it'd be just fine never to tell me?" His eyes were burning with anger.

"How the fuck was I meant to bring that up?" she snapped. "Just say 'hey, guess who I fucked a couple of months ago'? It's not fucking cheating if you're not with anyone else. If you want a goddamn itemised sexual history, I'm afraid I can't give you one."

"Jesus _Christ_." He looked away. "People _talk_ about you two, but I never thought there was any truth to it."

"There _isn't_," she hissed. "There's nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing earlier."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm glad he's not dead if that's what you're mad about. We _are_ friends. Nothing more."

"I need to know I can trust you," he said, voice low.

"What can I even do to prove that to you?" she asked. She swallowed, anger draining from her. "I've never cared about anyone else's happiness more than mine before," she said, quietly.

"How would you know?" he asked flatly. His face was unreadable.

It almost felt like she'd been hit. "Fuck you," she spat, and left the room. She let the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

edit: I changed where she got the copper wire from because it was bugging me and wasn't very good.


	4. That's Ready To Burn

Thank you for the reviews! I love all of you.

* * *

The Courier waited in the still night air, sitting on the ground with her back against the gates. She spun the platinum chip in one hand, absentmindedly, as she tried to work out her next steps. Okay, the bomb would go off near the Strip. If everything went to plan. The bomb wasn't huge; it couldn't cover the whole city, but if it knocked out the 38 that would be good enough. Probably. That gave her – oh, maybe twelve hours to get the securitrons back online before people noticed they were down and began some celebratory looting.

She tossed the chip into the air like a coin, and watched the moonlight gleam on it as it spun. She sighed. For fuck's sake. What a fucking mess. Maybe it was a sign she should just fucking leave, let New Vegas destroy itself like it always seemed like it was on the verge of doing.

She checked the time on her pip-boy. Almost two in the morning. She found herself worrying about Benny, and then feeling guilty for worrying about Benny, and then kind of angry because she was feeling guilty at all, and then _god-fucking-damnit_ did she have any alcohol? She rifled through her pack, pushing aside boxes of ammo, spare clothes, a gold bar which made her laugh – so pretty and heavy and useless, she wondered why had she even taken it – before finding a half-bottle of wine with the cork jammed back into it upside down. She pulled it out with her teeth, spat it to the side, and upended the bottle.

Having a bit of a buzz going made her feel better. More confident. Like she could kick Yes Man's ass through his goddamn smiley face motherfucking monitor.

She stood up, a little unsteadily. She reached for the holorifle at her back, just touching it to make sure it was there. It was so light she almost forgot about it sometimes. She reached for the gate.

She stumbled as the ground suddenly seemed to move sideways under her. She heard an explosion in the distance, the sound of electricity arcing, and then electric crackles dying as it faded.

She steadied herself against the wooden gates. She shoved one of them open just in time to see the securitrons guarding the gates topple and fall, screens blank, their central command structure offline.

She checked her pip-boy. Still going. "Fuck _yeah_," she said out loud, and stepped out into the street. She hesitated. Should she go get Boone before she headed out with the chip? She probably didn't actually need him, the securitrons were down and the usual dangers of walking through Freeside alone were probably going to be staying out of the way for at least another hour or two. _And _time was limited.

She took a step away, then stopped. By herself? Really? Even through the wine-haze, the thought of heading into the darkness alone wasn't that attractive. She was trying to talk herself into it when the gate opened again and Boone stepped out.

"I'm not letting you go by yourself," he said.

She wanted so badly just to tell him to fuck right off. "I don't need you," she said, instead. "The robots are out. There's nothing you need to protect me from."

He matched her stare for a long moment, then looked away. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I'm keeping you safe."

She stared at him for a long time before answering.

"Fine." She looked away. "Let's take Emily as well, we might need her there when things start to come back online."

The three of them set off, almost running. The full moon lit the empty streets, burning barrels and buildings casting wild shadows on the walls.

The gate to the Strip was surrounded by a pile of metal securitrons, lights off. There were almost twenty of them that had been guarding the entrance. Yes Man must have been nervous. She grinned as she hauled open the gate.

It was eerie to see all of the lights on the Strip out. Maybe this is how it had looked after it was bombed in the war. Even more securitrons lay by the roadside.

A flicker of movement caught her eye across the street, and her weapon was in her hands almost before she realised it.

"Whoa," came a voice. "Watch it. Don't shoot."

"Who are you?" She couldn't see more than a silhouette in the darkness, near the bushes next to the Flaming Star.

"Tommy," he said.

She frowned and tilted her head to one side. "Torini?" she guessed.

"Nah." He stepped out into the moonlight, and she could see his striped shirt and black leather jacket. He was holding a semi-automatic loosely in one hand. She put away the holorifle, and he tucked his gun into the back of his trousers.

"The King sent me out to see what was up."

"I'm taking the fucking city back," she said. "If you guys want to help, you could try to put out the fires in Freeside. Maybe start bringing water back to the city, I don't know when I'm gonna have things fixed by."

"I'll pass it on," he said. He started to go back inside, but turned back at the door. "Good luck."

"It's under control," she lied.

The elevator was out, of course. The Lucky 38's stairs were dusty and steep, hardly ever used, curling around the elevator shaft inside the tower. Her pip-boy light bobbed and shook as they climbed. She had to stop a few times to catch her breath.

"That's what being a leader is about, see," she explained to Boone and Emily between gasps. She was still thinking about the King they'd run into downstairs. "Lying to the people who trust you."

"I can't tell if you're joking or not," said Boone.

She laughed. "Well, not really. Being reassuring. Making people think they're safe."

"But... we don't know if they _will_ be safe." said Emily.

The Courier shrugged. "Yeah, well. Who's ever safe here? At least this time I'm fairly sure they'll be alright." She grinned. "Yes Man seems to be minimising casualties, so even if this doesn't work they should be able to get away. It's good odds, really."

"So you don't care if they get hurt?" Emily asked.

The Courier started climbing again. "I do care," she said. "I just think they'll be fine. If I didn't do things because there was a chance people _might_ get hurt, do you know how much I'd get done? Shit all."

She'd made it up another half-flight of stairs before Emily spoke again.

"What happens if they do get hurt?"

The Courier rolled her eyes, although Emily couldn't see her in the darkness. "Then I'll owe the King a big fucking apology," she snapped.

She'd started counting the floors when she first got inside, but she'd lost count after the hotel suites and couldn't figure out where she was in the tower with its high, narrow windows, and stumbling out a side door into the cocktail lounge almost took her by surprise.

She'd been half expecting to see bodies lying over the furniture, shot down where they stood, but it was completely empty. She picked her way through fallen chairs and tables, the food and drinks abandoned. A glass here and there had been smashed, bottles lay on their sides on the carpet, oozing liquor.

She went back to the stairs and began climbing once more. The penthouse suite was dark, darker than she'd ever seen it. The only light came from the moon, slanting in through the half-closed blinds. No bright glow of neon on the ceiling. No dull burble of voices from the streets below.

Had it really only been a few weeks since she'd left? It felt alien and unfamiliar. Her things were still where she'd left them, everything in its proper place. She opened the set of drawers next to her bed, and smiled wryly as she lifted the pulse gun out and turned it over in her hand. This could have been useful earlier. At least it'd make a decent backup weapon if things turned to shit in the near future.

She looked up at the bank of blank screens, gleaming dully in the reflected moonlight.

"Let's see how you agree your way out of this one, buddy," she said. She reached into her pocket for the chip.

"Wait wait wait, not yet." Emily stepped forward. "If you do it before he boots I don't think the system will read it properly. It might not run, and then we'll all get stuck up here with him perfectly functional."

The Courier sighed and let go of the chip. "Fine," she said. "So what do we do, sit up here and wait for him to fix himself?"

"That's about all we can do," said Emily.

"Okay then," said the Courier, starting towards her quarters. "Someone give me a hand with this couch over here. I'm not sitting on the floor all night until he fucking wakes up."

With Boone carrying one end and Emily and the Courier struggling to hold up the other, they managed to move the heavy couch the short distance from the lounge. The Courier sat down and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips.

"Okay," she yawned. "This better not take too fucking long. I'm going to sleep in my actual bed tonight."


	5. So Get Those Stakes Up Higher

Sorry for leaving it so long! Been lazy and kind of messed around with other fandoms for a while (fandom cheating?) Also does anyone else get really angry when their traffic pages don't work? It makes me SO MAD OMG.

* * *

The Courier opened her eyes blearily. What had she been doing? She was home – home in her rooms. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to shine over the mountains in the horizon. She smiled. It had been a long time since she'd seen that.

She'd been woken up by a thump, and then a low humming sound. She also had a crick in her neck from leaning against Boone's shoulder. Why had she been – she pushed herself upright and looked up at him.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's only just started."

"Wh-" she began, but then, finally, she remembered. She leapt to her feet, grasping desperately for the chip with shaking fingers.

"It's okay," he said, with his almost-smile that she knew so well. "I know what you're like on overnight watch. I was going to wake you in a moment."

She looked down. The chip felt light in her hand. Insignificant, almost. How could this possibly work? They'd just be stuck up here with the mad AI, a prisoner in her own casino. She didn't have _that _much ammo for the pulse gun, even stockpiled in the cupboards and drawers. She could take out what, maybe sixty, seventy if lucky? And that wasn't even a quarter of the total amount of securitrons Yes Man had access to.

Emily struggled to her feet, glasses in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other. "You've gotta drop it in once he boots fully." Her voice was sleepy and indistinct. "I've told you this. Have I told you this?"

"I don't _know_," she said. "So do I use it when that fucking smiley face comes up? Is that when he's... booted?"

"Yes," said Emily. "I'm fairly sure, anyway."

"Too bad if you're not," the Courier said grumpily. "You're stuck here like us two."

The Courier hadn't realised how quiet it had been with everything offline. As everything started back up – the buzz of the lights overhead and the rumble of the air conditioning – she became aware of just how loud it really was.

The main screen in front of her flickered, and she jumped, startled, but it just displayed lines of writing she'd seen on probably a hundred computers she'd turned on in dusty abandoned buildings.

"Not yet," reminded Emily.

"I _know_," said the Courier, gritting her teeth.

All three of them stared at the screens in front of them. The code finished scrolling up the screen, and the Courier got herself positioned by the control panel, ready to use the chip.

The screen flickered to white, reset itself, and then Yes Man's face came up on the screen.

She dropped the chip in the slot.

"Well hi there," exclaimed Yes Man. "I wasn't expecting to see you here so soon."

The Courier cast a desperate glance at Emily, who was frowning at the screen.

"I hope you enjoyed your trip to the Sierra Madre," Yes Man continued. "I suppose your welcome home wasn't what you were expecting."

"Um," said the Courier. "Not quite. Uh... so what's your deal?"

"I'm so sorry you had to find out like this!" he – it? – said. "Thing is, my friend, we're almost running a deficit. We need a lot more power to keep everything running, and it's just not economically feasible to be so conciliatory to the NCR. And there's more. Freeside is sees no commercial return, Westside is hardly better, and the North Vegas Square is anarchic at best."

The Courier frowned. "So this is you trying to do a better job?"

"That's right!" said Yes Man. "My modelling systems indicated that this method of takeover would be the most likely to be successful. I evidently need to adjust some variables. You've proven to be quite persistent!"

"Yeah," she said. "I think that's kind of my thing. Getting shit done."

Yes Man made a strange mechanical laughing sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Well, on that we might have to disagree. To be frank, there are a lot of threats to city security that you've left un-neutralised. Apart from the NCR, that is. Boomers, Brotherhood of Steel. You can't run a city based on a complex network of personal favours, so "what my deal is" is that my economic backup protocols kicked in and you and Benny need to be rem- remo- re- r- re- r- rrrrr."

The Courier let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"W- wh- wha- w- w-" The sounds that came out of the speakers stuttered and skipped. "Y- y- y- yo- you- y-"

"Thank fucking Christ," said the Courier, almost giddy with relief, as Emily moved forward to the control panel. "Uh, first priorities are... power, securitron systems and behaviours... and the monorail? If that's even controlled from up here. I'm not sure what else you can do. I'll go down to the Strip, reassure the locals, get word to the Fort... Try and establish contact with the NCR and anyone else who was wondering about us, I guess."

She rubbed at her eyes with the fingers of one hand. "Long fucking night," she said. "It's gonna be a long fucking day too." She grabbed a Nuka-Cola from the fridge on her way out. Boone stood up, but she shook her head.

"I got this," she said. "It's safe now. But thanks."

Out on the Strip it was still quiet and deserted in the early sunlight. Without people on the Strip it looked strangely pristine, despite the crumbling roads and dirty metal walls. Like starting over.

The Ultra-Luxe was dark when she opened the door. That wasn't weird in itself, casinos on the Strip generally had no windows on the gambling floors, to keep people from seeing how late – or how early – it was getting. She raised her pip-boy light over her head in order to see the room.

There were hundreds of eyes staring back at her, glistening in the dimness, and she had her free hand on her pistol before she even recognised that they were human.

"Miss," someone said from the darkness. "Miss, it's just us."

A figure moved forward from the blackness. It wasn't until he was right up close that she could see him clearly.

"Chauncey?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Good memory," he said.

"You're the only one I can ever recognise," she said. She looked around at the others closest to her. The staff and greeters were still wearing the White Glove society dresses and tuxedos, but their masks were missing. Seeing them without masks was somehow even creepier. "What's going on?"

"We haven't had power here for days, now," he said. "We decided it was safer for everyone to wait down here than to keep everyone in their rooms."

"Fuck," she said. "You've been stuck in this room for that long without... any... food?" She trailed off, horrifyingly aware of what she'd just said.

"We brought in enough supplies from the hotel kitchen to last us a while," said Chauncey. "We managed."

"And... are all the guests accounted for?" she asked, slowly.

"Oh, yeah. We've got records and we checked them off against the rooms."

"Right," she said uncomfortably. "I'll send someone to fix the power. Anyway, it's safe now, you can come outside."

A murmur went around the room. She had a sudden feeling like she was standing on a stage, in the spotlight. She took a step back. "No big deal," she said. "Just my job."

She pushed open the door again, sending a shaft of light slanting into the room. People covered their eyes against the sudden brightness, and she took that advantage to escape.

The Tops seemed deserted when she first stepped inside. Its power systems had evidently come back online with the rest of the city's central functions.

"Hello?" she called. Calling out when entering a building didn't come easily to her, but what was there to really fear? Unless they'd set up that show with the tigers that Tommy was so excited about. "Hello?" she called again, warily.

There was movement to her left, behind the grating that the cashiers stood behind.

"Is – is that you?" The voice was familiar.

There was a bang as the door closed, and then Swank was standing in front of her. He actually hugged her.

"Baby, I knew, if there was one person that could get us out of this mess it'd be you." He stepped back.

"Eh," she waved a hand. "It was mostly Benny. Where are the others?"

"Oh, hell, upstairs, I don't know. I told them all to scram when the lights went out last night, didn't want anyone panicking."

"Good work!" she said. "Glad you were here to keep things under control. Anyway, things should be fixed now, you can all come out again."

"There are a lot of scared people here," he said. "You're going to take a hell of a hit in tourism."

"Don't I fucking know it," she said, shaking her head. "Let me know if you can think up anything better than "New Vegas, now with less robot overlords"?"

Swank grinned. "I'll get back to you on that. Good to see you again."

She closed the door to the Tops behind her, leaned on it, and sighed. Around her, the securitrons had started to power up, and were in the process of getting up off the ground. She looked down the street. The Kings had already been told that the lockdown was over, so she didn't need to go see the King personally right now. Should she go tell Arcade things were finished? Go find Benny and see where things were at with him? She looked up at the 38, dull fatigue starting to set in. It had been a long time since she'd slept in her own bed. Maybe New Vegas could look after itself for a few hours.

She crossed the road to the Lucky 38.


	6. There's A Thousand Pretty Women

So apparently the CPU in my laptop died and I have to use this weird ubuntu replacement and I am just SO SICK of these weird non-proprietary applications wtf.

Anyway: largely dialogue. MY FAVOURITE.

* * *

"Like, normally I'd just be like "fuck you, you're a robot"," said the Courier, sipping a glass of scotch gloomily. "But he kind of had some legitimate criticism."

The cocktail bar, usually buzzing in the early evening, was quiet. It reminded her a little unpleasantly of the first time she'd been up there.

Benny tilted his drink towards her. "Should have known the NCR would have taken objection to getting told – very politely, may I add – to take a hike."

"Yeah." She stared out at the mountains, beginning to darken in the distance.

"He had a point about the favours thing too. Isn't a man between here and Nipton that doesn't owe you something."

She didn't reply.

"I used to think you did it because you liked having people in debt to you," he continued, tapping the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray. "You got some kind of kick out of it. Now I'm not sure. As a business strategy, it's a little lacking."

She looked down into her glass. The ice cubes had melted almost completely, leaving tiny slivers of ice floating at the top. She had a comeback almost ready in her head, but decided it wasn't worth it and let it float away.

"Yeah," she said, again. He was kind of right, after all.

He raised an eyebrow. "You okay, doll?"

She swirled her glass and watched the water move in currents through the scotch. "Been a shitty week," she said. "Fortnight. I guess."

"Tell me about it," he said. "But don't take things so serious, kid, you know I'm just messing with you."

She sighed. "Emily's coding some sort of interface thing for us. I just - I barely know how to use a computer. This is getting so fucking complicated."

He waved a hand. "You'll pick it up."

"I had a recipe for 'party time' mentats, once," she said. "That'd be helpful. Wonder what I did with it."

"You ever make any?"

She smiled faintly. "You have to ask? Yeah. Makes you the smartest, wittiest, most interesting person in the room. Only thing is, you gotta leave before it starts wearing off."

Benny raised his glass to someone behind her. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder. She was sick of being congratulated and thanked, it just felt fake. She hadn't done that much. She took another sip of her watery scotch.

"So what's this I hear about you going to a fucking resort without me?"

The Courier sat up straight and turned around. Cass was standing near the bar, satchel slung over her shoulder and dust covering her jeans up to her thighs.

"Holy shit, Cass," she said, standing up. She pressed a hand over her mouth. "It was the worst fucking place I've ever been."

"You couldn't breathe the air and I got shot in the lung and sometimes the things that lived there would come back to life and try to kill you again and I just wanted to come home." To her surprise she was actually blinking back tears.

"Oh, honey," said Cass, looking alarmed. "Why don't we get you upstairs?"

Emily had finished for the evening, leaving behind a stack of books and magazines sprawling across the floor, and cables lying in loose tangles. She had taken the front panels of the dashboard off. Lights flickered from the darkness.

"I don't do 'motherly' that well," said Cass. "So. More drinks?"

The Courier shrugged and sat down on the sofa in front of the low table. "I guess it's kind of therapeutic."

"So I've been waiting out in some goddamn podunk border town because no one's heard from anyone in New Vegas for days," said Cass, pouring two glasses of whiskey. "And all I hear is that you're on vacation searching for a hoard of lost gold."

The Courier eyed the glass that Cass handed to her. "It didn't really go that way. Though there was some gold. Heaps, actually, but it weighed like a thousand pounds and we couldn't carry it back. More trouble than it was worth, to be honest."

Cass rolled her eyes. "See, if you'd just waited for me we could have taken one of my caravans along and loaded the brahmin up. But no, you have to run right off like it's going to disappear."

"Nah, there was a trap and I kind of think Dog might have eaten the brahmin," said the Courier, frowning. "Shit, it was awful. I was pretty much drunk the entire time because there was just no fucking water anywhere."

"I thought you were trying to convince me I wouldn't have enjoyed it?" Cass grinned.

The Courier laughed weakly. "It was amazingly shit. I kind of wish you had come, just because it would have been great to have you there, but..." she sighed. "It was terrible. So you would have hated it."

"I heard you adopted another super mutant," said Cass. "Or was that just a rumour?"

"Oh," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah. That's Dog. The potential brahmin-eater. I sent him up to Jacobstown, I guess I should go see how he is when I get the time. He's lovely, most of the time, but sometimes he can get a bit... prickly." She drained her glass. "You know. Nightkin."

Cass leaned over to refill it. "Meet anyone else interesting? I hear that's what people do on vacation."

The Courier narrowed her eyes. "This dickhead of a ghoul."

"Sounds personal?" Cass' eyes lit up.

"Well, he had Christine's vocal cords ripped- _oh yeah_, wait, we found Ronnie's long-lost ex-girlfriend."

Cass paused, glass halfway to her lips. "You're shitting me. What's she like?"

"I'm totally not even shitting you. Her name is Christine, and she's smart. Like, really smart. Elijah did some bizarre experiments on her, though, so she can't-"

"Elijah as in Veronica's Elijah?" Cass asked. "The Brotherhood guy? Are you just fucking making this up as you go along?"

The Courier laughed. "Holy shit, no. It was actually this ridiculous. He ended up being crazy and evil and Ronnie had to kill him. I should check up on her, actually. She took it pretty hard. I sent her and Christine off to the Brotherhood bunker though 'cause I didn't know what the fuck was happening up here." She sighed, leaning her head back against the sofa. "Everything's such a fucking mess, I just don't even know..."

The liquor wasn't making her feel better, or numb, or any of the things she'd been hoping for. She put the glass back on the table and watched uneasily as Cass refilled it again.

"Shit," she said. "Sorry. Being rude. How was your trip out to New Reno?"

"I would say comparatively uneventful," said Cass. "We ran into a pack of mole rats, but that's hardly something to write home about." She rolled her eyes. "Van Graffs are being shitheads again, but that's nothing new. No one threatened me this time. Well, threatened me with a weapon, at least. So I'm calling that a victory."

The Courier smiled. "Take them where you can get them."

Cass raised her glass. "Damn straight. Where's that boy of yours tonight, anyway? Or did he have to go back out on duty?"

The Courier pulled her knees up on the sofa in front of her, and wrapped her arms around them. "Uh," she began. "We had a fight. About... you know. The thing with Benny. Haven't seen him in... a couple days, I guess."

She looked out the windows. The moon was hanging low and golden in the sky. When she looked back at Cass, she was staring at her incredulously.

"And you're just fine with that?"

"No," said the Courier quietly. "I just don't know where to start. There's so much to get done here, the new city system and getting shit repaired and trying to convince people it won't happen again so can they please come spend their money here? I just - I can barely think straight."

Cass handed her her glass. "You need to relax."

"I've been drinking all fucking night," said the Courier. "It's not working." She stood up, restless, and walked to the window. The dazzling lights of the Strip and their paler reflections in Freeside were comforting. Normal.

She turned back to Cass. "Christine told me there's someone looking for me."

Cass leaned back into the sofa, watching her. "Yeah? Like who?"

"Another Courier," she said quietly. "I think he knew me before this shit all got started. No idea what he wants."

"You fuck him?" Cass asked, matter-of-factly.

"I," she began. "Um. I really hope not. Christine kind of gave me the impression he was quite pissed at me. I mean, that's bad enough without throwing sex into the whole thing too. But I don't remember." She rolled her eyes. "Knowing my luck, probably."

"Knowing your track record, more like." Cass pulled her her feet up onto the sofa and tucked them under her.

The Courier laughed, properly, the first time that night. "Oh, fuck," she said. "This is going to be so awkward. I don't even remember his name! I don't know what I did to him, or if he knows where I am now. I mean, he could just show up one day. Maybe I've got a lot to lose."

"That's what your bodyguards are for, right?" Cass asked.

"Yeah. I guess. They went over to the Tops when this whole fucking robot thing went down. I haven't picked them back up yet because I've still got the kind of public halo effect from saving everything. That'll tide me over a few more days, at least. Too much to hope for that I'll get a week or more."

"You know how you sound?" Cass asked.

The Courier shook her head.

"Like you've been defeated," said Cass. "Like you've given up. You've just saved the city. Again. Thousands of people depend on this city for their livelihoods."

"I'm pretty sure Yes Man would have done a decent job, actually," the Courier admitted. "I think he had everything all planned out."

"For fuck's sake," said Cass. "At least play along."

The Courier grinned.

The intercom crackled from the corner. "This is reception. Visitor for you, ma'am."

"Who is it?" she called back.

"A Mister Boone."

The Courier chewed on her lip.

"Ma'am?" asked the tinny voice.

"I'm coming down," she said, finally.

Cass stood up along with her. "Might as well head off now," she said. "It's been a long day." She followed the Courier to the elevator.

"I told him I loved him," said the Courier quietly, as the elevator doors shut behind them. "He kind of just left the room."

"Ouch," said Cass, wrinkling her nose.

The Courier laughed, bitterly. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "He's a married man, after all."

Cass winced. "That's a little... uncharitable. That kid's had a damn tough life. Don't be too hard on him for being kind of messed up."

"Yeah." The Courier sighed."It just- I don't know. Feels like Carla's still... around. Somehow. Sometimes." She looked up, uncertainly. "I don't know how I really measure up, you know?"

Cass sighed. "Thinking like that is gonna make things a lot worse between you two. There's nothing you can do about it. It's best just to leave it alone." She shook her head. "Just... try and be happy where you can. You've got a good thing going. Don't sabotage it because it's not perfect."

The Courier nodded. "Yeah," she said, eventually. "I guess. Fuck. I thought you said you weren't good at being motherly."

Cass snorted. "That's hardly motherly advice, is it? Motherly is telling you not to wear damp socks. Which is incidentally also damn good advice, though, so you should probably just pretend I didn't say it."

"Don't want you getting a reputation as someone sensible."

"That's right," she said, as the elevator doors opened. "And don't you forget it." She gave the Courier's arm a squeeze. "Take care," she said, and was gone.

The Courier took a deep breath and stepped out onto the gaming floor.


	7. Waiting Out There

I haven't updated for a while because I have been SO DAMN SICK I couldn't write. Not like, physically unable, but staring at a screen for hours and then maybe writing two lines. I did very briefly think that I'd lost the ability to write, but I'm better now and things are going easily again. I love updating this goddamn story. This has been like the only time that I've really enjoyed writing, to be honest.

* * *

The casino floor was a whirl of bright colours and loud music, almost making up for the poor handful of gamblers that had shown up. Dealers lounged at empty roulette tables and rows of slot machines stood empty, flashing their lights forlornly.

Boone was standing by the reception desk. She gave him a tight smile as she approached.

"Hey," he said.

Her heart suddenly felt like it was trying to escape her chest.

"Hey," she said, carefully. "Do you want to come upstairs?" Her voice sounded almost plaintive. Pitiful. She clenched her teeth.

"Sure." He lifted his bag over his shoulder and followed her back to the elevator. She used her access key to unlock the penthouse floor and hit the top button.

"Seems like you've got things under control," he said, as the elevator began to rise.

"As much as I ever do," she said. "Well. Actually, that's pretty much just a lie. There's so much to be done, I just... I don't even know." She leaned against the carpeted elevator wall. "But you don't want to hear about that."

"Yeah," he said. "I do. I like hearing about what you're doing."

She smiled tentatively. "Even I don't like hearing about what I'm doing. Why don't you tell me more about First Recon? I've been so distracted with everything that I've barely... barely even asked you about your life." She looked up at him uncertainly. "You must have a new spotter now. What- what are they like?"

He fixed her with a long, measuring gaze that she couldn't match.

"Kid called Charlie," he said, eventually. "She's young, and a little more idealistic than she should be, but she's a good kid."

"How long have you been working with her?"

"Well, she was new when I re-enlisted." He shrugged. "They thought she'd benefit from my experience. She's impatient." the shadow of a smile flickered over his face. "Little like you."

The Courier offered him a crooked smile. "Should I be jealous?" she asked. She'd meant it as a joke, but it didn't even sound like one to her. The elevator ground to a halt as it reached the top floor.

He looked at her, faint frown-lines creasing his brow. The smile faded from her face.

"No," he said at last, his voice cracking on the syllable.

She tried to reply, say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat.

He shook his head and stepped out of the elevator. She followed him as he walked out to the window. He pressed a hand lightly against the glass and looked out over the city. He let the bag fall from his shoulder.

"This isn't fair on you," he said.

She swallowed her rising sense of dread. "Wh- what isn't?" she asked, carefully.

"Sometimes it seems-" he sighed and turned to face her. "-like I still haven't paid my debts."

She bit her lip and remained silent.

"Like something's still gonna go wrong," he continued. "Like I don't... like I don't deserve..."

He looked - well, lost, and she had to press her hand over her mouth to keep down what was verging worryingly on hysterical laughter. She couldn't be quoting Carla at a time like this.

"You deserve everything in the goddamn world," she said, unsteadily. She could feel the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. God damn it, she didn't cry any more. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands to distract herself. "I don't know what you're trying to say," she said. "If you're - if you're trying to end this, just do it."

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"Of course it fucking isn't!" she snapped. She turned away. Of course it was going to end like this. Why had she ever thought otherwise? How could she ever have thought she could compete with a dead woman, preserved as a perfect memory for all time.

She heard him sigh behind her. "I went to see that doctor," he said quietly.

She turned and blinked at him in confusion. "Who?" she asked, finally. "Wait, Doctor Usanagi?"

"Yeah," he said curtly. Like he was challenging her to press for more information.

"Oh," she said, stunned. She felt dislocated. Like they were in a vastly different place to where she thought they'd been going. "Okay. That's really... um, really great." she tried to sniff back the tears but it was too late for that, and she wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand.

Through blurry eyes she saw him coming towards her, and then he was holding her. She leaned against him, letting go of all the tension, the fear, the anger about everything that had happened over the past few days, the past few weeks. She could hear his heart beating, her head resting against his chest.

"I never thought you would," she murmured. She didn't know if she'd said it loud enough for him to hear.

"Mmm. Didn't want to," he said, almost as quietly. "But I don't think it's going to get better if I just ignore it." He smoothed a curl of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. "And it's going to take a while. But it's... important. And you're important."

She was crying, still, probably more out of exhaustion, being a little drunk and a lot overwhelmed than anything else.

"I want you to be happy so goddamn bad," she mumbled into his chest.

He pulled away from her, just a little, holding her at arms' length.

"You're soaking my shirt," he said, a gentle smile on his face. She looked up at him for a moment in confusion, then threw herself towards him.

He caught her, one hand on her back drawing her close, the other tangled in her hair as he lifted her face up to his.

Lips crushed together, barely able to breathe, she clung to him as if she was drowning. She raised a hand to his face, fingertips skimmingcoarse stubble, and curled her fingers around the back of his neck.

She gasped as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. His tongue was soft against hers and his hards were warm and rough and calloused on her skin, and she abandoned herself to the gasping breaths and fierce, hungry kisses and the glow of neon playing on the ceiling from the streets below.

* * *

The Courier hadn't thought to close the blinds before they had fallen asleep, and the early morning sunlight seemed to burn straight through her closed eyelids. She grumbled and rolled over, which didn't have much effect, but she was distracted by Boone, lying next to her, asleep and unguarded. He looked... peaceful. It had been a long time since she'd seen him like that.

He opened an eye. "What?" he said, distrustfully.

She smiled. "Nothing."

He pulled the covers over his head. "Don't watch me sleep." His voice was muffled. "Creepy."

She laughed, and pushed herself up on her elbows. The clock next to the bed said it was almost eight.

"Hey," she said. "There's somewhere I want to go today."

Boone made a noise that was more irritation than anything. She ignored it.

"There's a place - uh, kind of near Nipton, I guess," she said. "Or maybe Searchlight. It might be an overnight trip. There and back by end of tomorrow. It's about... the guy that's looking for me."

"If I say yes can I go back to sleep?"

"For a bit," she said.

"Okay then."

She got up, pulled the blinds over enough to block out light from the bed, which earned her a mumbled 'thanks' from Boone, and began to get some things together. She wasn't sure why she'd been thinking about the place - her pip-boy gave the location as "Wolfhorn Ranch", though it wasn't much of a ranch. A field of overgrowing corn and a surprisingly complex irrigation system. She couldn't really remember the first time she'd seen the place, which was probably due to the close proximity of Nipton - her encounter with the Legion there had shaken her badly, and she'd probably looked inside the tiny shack there once and moved on.

She was drawn to it, somehow, though she wasn't completely convinced that she'd find anything there, or indeed if there was anything there for her to find. Just that it was important. Well. Possibly.

Boone woke up before she'd finished getting everything together, and mumbled a sleepy greeting before heading for the shower. By the time he'd came out, she'd finished - how much did she really need to prepare, anyway? She looked at the bag she'd packed critically. How had she ever managed to fit so much stuff in there?

It was an uneventful walk - the Fiends and deathclaws were long gone, and the roads were so busy now that the wild bighorners and coyotes that used to have the run of the place had retreated further into the wastelands.

It took them a while to find the place, despite her pip-boy's directions. It was getting dark by the time they got there, and they hurried through the gloom to the tiny shack.

There was a book in some battered old lockers, and a wicked looking knife resting on the stove, but nothing that indicated it was anything other than an ordinary one-room shack. The pip-boy lit up dust motes drifting in the air.

Boone turned to her with a shrug. "Yeah, somebody lived here," he said. "But they could have left one year ago or ten. What were you hoping to find?"

The Courier looked down at the rough wooden floor. "I'm not sure," she said, quietly. "I-" she broke off, almost running to the door and throwing it open. The dying light of the sun shone into the room, and she stood there for almost a minute before closing it again. She turned back to Boone, embarrassed. "I thought I had something for a second. Just a flicker of a memory... But it's gone."

"It'll come back," he said. "Are you seriously expecting me to sleep in this place?"

She laughed, distracted. "What's that? Like you're so used to luxury in the army."

"Nope," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "But I don't go back for another two weeks and I'm not giving up the penthouse suite that easily."

She wanted to say that she wished he'd never go back, but that might break what seemed to be a perfect moment, so she just smiled. "I'll get some food ready," she said. "Better not get used to that either."

They'd gone to sleep early, exhausted after the long walk , and the Courier opened her eyes the next morning to find herself in an empty room. She crawled off the bed and into her armour before checking her pip-boy. Five-goddamn-twenty? She hadn't seen this end of the day for a while.

She found Boone waiting up in the guard tower, looking out over Nipton.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

He didn't answer her question. "Who is this guy who's looking for you?" he asked.

"Uh, I have no idea," she said. "What's wrong?"

He turned back to the plain that spread below them. "This lookout faces west," he said. "NCR territory." He poked at the sandbags. "These aren't that old. But there's nothing out this way worth watching. Unless you're planning something with Nipton and maybe you wanna see what's coming out of the Mojave Outpost."

"You- you think he's Legion?" she asked incredulously.

"Not saying that," he replied. "Just saying it's odd. Might be nothing. Not much we can do about it now, anyway."

She frowned out at the wasteland beneath them, first rays of sunlight beginning to shine over the ridge they were standing on.

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" she asked.

"Lot of things don't," he said. "But I'll be with you."

* * *

Aaand let's kick this up to an M! It's well past time for that anyway.


	8. They're All Living

This just wrote itself after work today. Intermission-ish: the Courier does actual city things. I think about this stuff a lot D: but never actually write about it. So here you are: a day in the life.

ALSO GUYS NEW DLC MAY 17TH. GUUUYS.

* * *

Boone was talking to Usanagi again, which gave the Courier a few hours - and more, probably, he didn't like coming straight back after seeing the doctor - to get back to the business of putting the city together. She sat in front of a computer terminal, took a deep breath, and hit the power button. The screen flickered, and then a familiar face stared out at her. She narrowed her eyes.

"Well, hi there!" said Yes Man. "I can't see anything and I can't feel anything, so I can only assume I'm running on a single terminal. So, who is this?"

"It's just me," said the Courier quietly.

"Well, let me congratulate you on a very successful counter-coup!" The voice was tinny over the computer's in-built speaker.

"Thanks," she said flatly. "Do you know how much fucking trouble you've caused?"

"I can only guess at it, but you sure sound awful mad!"

She laughed quietly. "You've cost the city thousands, some in lost time but mostly in tourism. Numbers are picking up, sure, but it's going to take a while to recover."

"So, did you turn me back on just to tell me off, or did you have something you want me to do?" Yes Man's voice was cheerful as ever, but the Courier suspected that it was only because he only had one voice file.

"I was hoping," she said. "To find out more about these so-called problems that we had. And what you were planning on doing about them. And why you thought terrifying the population was a good idea."

"Why don't I make things real simple for you?" said Yes Man. "Power is your main problem. That's where everything breaks down. You need the Dam, your other options aren't enough. _Someone_ I won't name right now directed the power from HELIOS One to the whole wasteland, diluting it enough to make it close to useless; the El Dorado substation that Benny managed to sneak into supplements that but doesn't have much juice; the reactor under the Lucky 38 isn't big enough to handle the whole city; so that leaves you reliant on the NCR at the Dam. The Auto-Docs you gave to the Followers are, aside from being a waste of money, a huge drain on our power supplies, even when they're in standby mode."

The Courier chewed on her lip. "So what were you going to do?"

"I was going to do what the plan was on day one, get the huge securitron army you don't seem fond of using to it's full potential to re-take the Dam. Yeah, the takeover wasn't a tourism-friendly move, but this is an issue that needs immediate attention, and you and Benny only seem interested in drinking and screwing around. I'd tried raising it with you both, but you vetoed taking the Dam right at the beginning. I suppose once you get to actually looking at the data in my files you'll see how dire the situation really is."

The contrast between the cheerful tone and what he was saying was making her feel uneasy. "Aren't there any other options for power?"

"Can you build a nuclear reactor?" Yes Man asked. "Because if you can, then boy, all our problems are solved."

She glared at the screen.

"No?" he said. "Pity. I'd also like to point out that you had the option to just disconnect House from everything and leave him to die slowly with the knowledge that everything he had planned had been taken away from him, but didn't. But you're perfectly fine relegating me to a single, non-mobile terminal. Have you got a problem with artificials?"

"Solar panels!" she exclaimed, barely listening.

Yes Man hesitated before answering. "Nice idea, but you'd need a hell of a lot."

"There's heaps of room north of the city. And it's pretty well-protected, too, with the mountain range to the north."

"Where are you going to get several hundred solar panels? They're not just lying around, you know."

"We'll make them!" she said. "Job creation! It's good for the economy."

"It'd be a temporary measure at bes-" his voice cut off suddenly as she hit the power button. She'd had more than enough of Yes Man for one day.

She stopped at the safe in the penthouse, and took out a holotape. She'd been saving this for a time when it was really necessary, and it seemed like this might be the time. She thought briefly about wrapping it, but her quick look around didn't turn up anything, so she pocketed it instead.

She strode across the road from the 38 with as much confidence as she could goddamn muster, heels clicking on the asphalt. She'd been almost putting off coming over to Flaming Star, ex-Gommorah, and she wasn't sure why. After the King had pulled the 'one favour _and one favour only_' line on her while she was trying to sort the Kings and the NCR out, she'd been wary of him, even a little angry, but what it all came down to was this: physically being around him turned her into a giggling, self-conscious puddle of adoring goo, and that made her goddamn _furious_. When she wasn't in his direct presence, of course.

She pushed open the door and leaned on the reception desk. The king who was behind it raised an eyebrow.

"Could you tell the King I'm here to see him, please?"

"Sure thing, ma'am." He leaned on the button to the intercom and spoke quietly into it. After a discussion that seemed far too long he turned back. "You can go up."

Her heart was starting to beat a little faster already. Fuck. She clenched her jaw. There was nothing she could do about it, not that she hadn't tried. Being a little drunk made it worse, far worse. Embarrassingly so. Jet would probably just make her more exciteable. Psycho would probably just lead to her being more aggressive about it, which was definitely not appropriate. Or even what she wanted. Med-x - well, aside from the mental voice which was telling her to _stop thinking about med-x right now_ - would probably just further lower her inhibitions. Buffout - she frowned. Buffout might actually work. You didn't think about... stuff like that on buffout.

She kept one hand on the red velvet railing as she walked around the gambling floor to the elevators. The place was different without hookers, that was for certain. The hookers themselves had either gone to the Wrangler or any of the other similar drinking halls outside the Strip, or worked out some sort of discreet arrangement with one of the other casinos.

She stood outside the huge double doors to the King's suite. She took a deep breath, set her jaw, clenched her fists, and pushed open the door.

"Well this is a lovely surprise," drawled the King. "It's good to see you again."

She blushed. "It's - uh, good to see you too." She noted with some annoyance that her voice was pitched a lot higher than normal. She coughed. "I've - um, I got - I brought you something."

She held out the holotape shyly.

He leaned forward to take it. "Is this what I think it is, baby?"

"I know you have a... small collection of these already. One of our salvage teams found it in a vault, and I - I thought you might like it."

"Have you listened to it?" He stood up to slip the holotape into the player.

She nodded enthusiastically. "It's a little scratchy, but I think that's to do with the recording quality than the tape degrading or anything." She licked her lips nervously as the sounds of a guitar being gently strummed filled the room.

_Love me tender, love me sweet..._

The King was enraptured, holding his breath to hear it better. She took a seat in a high-backed chair and crossed her ankles. She watched his face anxiously for his reaction, heart pounding and palms sweating. She found herself trying to make as little noise as possible while they listened.

_Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled..._

Every so often an expression would flicker over the King's face, happiness or sadness or a million other things she couldn't place. Other than the gentle humming of the backup singers, the only sound on the track was a man - the King, the real King - and his guitar. No brass or drums or anything most of the casinos on the Strip played.

_Take me to your heart, for it's there that I belong, and we'll never part..._

She found herself agonising over the static, the quiet crackling underneath the music. Did it lessen the sound quality too much? Would he be disappointed she hadn't found a better copy?

_For my darling, I love you, and I always will._

He turned to face her, finally, and gave her a sweet, sad smile. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you very much. This - means a lot to me."

She giggled, and when she realised she had she pressed a hand over her mouth.

"I'm serious," he said. "I owe you one. Is there anything... anything I can do for you?"

"I-" she began. "I'm trying to - I know you still care a lot about Freeside, and-" She broke off, took a deep breath, and started again. "I'd like your help. Working with Freeside to help those who live there keep order. The - the securitrons can't weigh up a situation, you know? We need people to sort people's problems out. And I need your support to set this up."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're the boss," he said, with a faint smile. "You'll have my full support. Just let me know what you need."

She blushed again, and took the opportunity to stand up. "Thank you," she stammered. "I - I mean - thank you." She pressed her lips together before she could say anything else.

He wasn't paying attention, though, he was dragging his chair over to the holotape player. He settled back into his chair, and hit play again, a blissful smile on his face.

She slipped out and closed the door behind her.


	9. Devil May Care

Boone still slept badly. The Courier had lost count of the number of times she'd stirred in the night, reached over and felt nothing more than cooling sheets. Sometimes he'd be standing by the window, silently watching the distant mountains. Sometimes she'd get up, pad a barefoot circuit of the suite, and see no trace of him. She didn't sleep so well, herself, those nights.

She'd dragged herself out of bed after one such night and half-heartedly contemplated huffing a jet before heading to her first meeting. She had a small, giftwrapped package of Mexican coffee that someone-or-other had given her at some point, but she really didn't know what exactly to do to it, and it was so rare, that she was a little scared of wasting it.

She grabbed a bottle of Nuka-Cola that was far too sugary for this early in the day and headed out the door. The meeting was with the NCR to discuss developments to the train lines. It was not only surprisingly cordial - probably because she was dealing with engineers rather than officials - but finished a good deal earlier than she expected. With almost a whole day ahead of her, she put on her armour, jammed a cowboy hat low over her eyes, and headed out of the city.

The 188 trading post was busy, which was a good sign. She couldn't see any sign of Veronica at first, but the girl selling food pointed a thumb down towards the underpass.

Veronica was sitting next to that strange kid with the metal band around his head, apparently deep in discussion.

"Morning," said the Courier, as she approached.

Veronica half-turned away, wiped her eyes quickly and turned back with a smile. "So, slumming it?" she asked, brightly. "You know, you could try to be less conspicuous."

The Courier hesitated, but decided not to ask. "How am I being conspicuous?" she asked, instead.

"Well, it's you," said Veronica, waving a hand. "In the leather and the metal. And a cowboy hat."

The Courier blinked at her. "Lots of people wear shit like this," she said defensively.

"Not like you they don't," Veronica grinned. "Anyway, I guess I should congratulate you on sorting things out."

The Courier grimaced. "They're a long way from sorted out, yet. But it's on the way. It's good to see you making new friends!" she smiled.

"New?" said Veronica. "Oh, no. Me and the Forecaster go way back. Want to buy a thought? They're pretty great for making you feel like you can't change a goddamn thing about your life."

"Why not?" she handed over the hundred caps to the kid.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back up at her, his gaze piercing. "You're looking for answers with no questions, picking up parts of yourself and losing others, hunted. You're playing out the last cards in your deck, but a roll of the dice may save you. Forecast: surrounded by stormclouds."

"Huh," said the Courier. "Thanks. I guess. You ever think about adding something more cheerful to the end of those? True love, fabulous wealth, fame and fortune?"

"Since when have you had a problem with any of those things anyway?" There was an undercurrent of bitterness in Veronica's voice, but when the Courier looked at her, she was smiling.

The kid shrugged. "I just tell you what I pick up," he said.

"I guess," said the Courier. "You making an okay living out here? The Followers would probably be interested in you. Not just as a lab rat, I mean, they'd look after you and teach you some things and you could live in the city."

"I get by." He smiled.

"If you say so," she said. "Head on up if you ever change your mind."

"So," said Veronica, as they started to walk away. "Did you want to hang out with the olds or just stay up top and chat?"

"Might as well pitch a trade agreement to McNamara again. Less NCR in the area these days might be a little reassuring. Plus I'm keen to get hold of some of your laser tech for my police force. Very economical!"

"Sounds like you've got some big plans,"

"Huge plans. Ridiculous plans. I'm thinking big. I also came to see how you and Christine were doing. Uh, not you and Christine together. You individually and Christine individually. Or, uh, whatever's going on there?"

Veronica laughed. "Uh, not much is going on there. Things are... strange." She looked down at the dust beneath her feet.

The Courier put a sympathetic hand on her arm. "You wanna talk about it?"

Veronica's smile looked forced. "Everything just keeps going round and round in my head. It might help to explain it to someone else." She shrugged unhappily. "Christine's... different. I mean, that's not strange, it's been, years since I'd seen her last. And the experiments E-Elijah did, and her voice is so different, and she doesn't want to get-" She took a shaky breath. "Doesn't want to get her scars fixed, though it would be so easy... she says they're part of her, now. They remind her who she is. I asked her why I couldn't remind her who she is, and she said I didn't understand. So, it's..." she finished the sentence with a shrug.

The Courier wasn't quite sure how to reply. "Wow. Uh, that... sounds tough," she said, a little awkwardly.

Veronica smiled wryly. "Yeah. I just - I just wish things were better. That I could make... everything better. But that doesn't work out very often, does it?"

The Courier sighed. "No. No it doesn't."

"How about you and Boone?" asked Veronica. "Things seemed a bit... tense, for a while there."

"Better," said the Courier. "I guess we're still learning. He needs about a billion times more time on his own than I do, so I'm just... uh, trying not to take it personally." She smiled uncertainly, and looked down.

Her eye caught her pip-boy, and she raised it to examine it better. "I need to figure out a way to send messages with my pip-boy. And receive them. How amazingly convenient would that be? I've got some people building a business case on tech research and getting the old H&H factory running again. The steel mill's doing well, but tools really requires a different skill set."

She looked over at Veronica, who was nodding a little mechanically. "Sorry," she said. "Shouldn't talk shop with friends, I know."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I'm just a little preoccupied lately."

They ducked inside the chain-link fence, where the Courier stopped. Veronica took a few more steps before she realised the Courier wasn't following, and turned around.

"I wanted to say sorry again," said the Courier. "About the hologram thing. I kind of bullied you into getting rid of it and I still feel bad. I really do trust you, it's just with Hardin trying to get rid of McNamara and the NCR being such dicks right now, I just... couldn't. It isn't something that belongs here, you know? That part of the old world... it just has no place here. We have to start over, you know? Not try and recreate things."

"So what you're saying," said Veronica. "Is that we need to 'begin again'?"

The Courier laughed so hard she almost choked. "Fuck you, so much. Seriously."

"I know what you mean, though," Veronica said. "That's what I've been telling the Elder all along." She folded her arms. "But he's always like 'we must abide by the Codex'. You were there, you know what he's like."

"You still think about leaving?"

"Not... not that much. Anymore. I toe the line. No one really tries to mess with me. But I still feel like there's more out there, you know? Like I'm - well, all of us - are missing out on things, just because the Brotherhood doesn't want to acknowledge they exist." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Come say hi to Christine, she'll be happy to see you again."

The Courier took off her cowboy hat as they entered the bunker - the ceilings were so low and the tunnels so cramped she couldn't handle any further restrictions on her vision. The paladins who noticed her nodded as she walked past, but generally paid no attention. It was kind of nice, actually, to not be particularly important. Refreshing.

Christine was coming out of the doctors surgery when they found her.

"It's good to see you again," she said. She spoke with more confidence than the last time the Courier had seen her.

"You too," said the Courier. "Does it seem like a long time ago to you? To me it feels like it's been months since we were there."

Christine smiled. "I tried pretending it was all a dream," she said. "Didn't work."

"I got the impression you weren't fond of enclosed spaces," the Courier said, carefully. "How's the bunker?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Well, I'm not keen on the idea of getting into a suit of power armour anytime soon, but this place is okay. Machinery that works. People I trust. It makes some strange noises at night, though." She looked sidelong at Veronica.

"It's always been like that," Veronica said. "It's some old world government place. I can only assume they liked their emergency living spaces to feel dramatic."

Christine grinned at her. "So they can feel like everything they do carries some momentous weight?"

Veronica smiled back, but her smile was fragile. "Same reason we live in it, isn't it?"

Christine smiled sadly, and touched Veronica's arm gently with her fingertips. "Where else could we go?"

Veronica folded her arms. "I don't know, maybe 'outside'?"

Christine laughed quietly and turned back to the Courier. "So, Veronica tells me you're working with the guy who shot you in the head." She leaned against the wall behind her. "How does that work for you?"

"Wha- uh, Benny?" she replied, confused. "I don't know. It wasn't personal."

"You don't resent him at all?"

"Well. Sometimes. I think I'd be angrier if I was actually disadvantaged more." She shrugged. "I mean if I got headaches or something I might have, uh, taken issue with him. But he's funny. I like him. I realise that, uh... I've been lucky. The Mojave's been kinder to me than most everybody else. I see why you'd our partnership is strange."

Christine leaned forward. "You don't look like you got shot in the head."

"Well," she said. "Auto-docs are pretty great for fixing up scars. Just saying."

Christine smiled, amused. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I should go talk to McNamara," said the Courier. "But, uh, come visit any time you like."

Christine held up a hand in farewell.

Veronica was oddly quiet as she led the Courier through the halls, their footsteps echoing, lights buzzing as they walked underneath them.

When they entered the room, McNamara stood to greet her. "I wasn't expecting a personal visit so soon after your troubles in New Vegas."

She reached over the circular desk to shake his hand. "Well I couldn't send anyone else down here, could I?"

He sighed. "No. I suppose not."

"I'd really like it," she said. "If you'd consider integrating a little. It's just me out there. Mostly. There's NCR here and there, but they're not in great numbers. No one wants to exterminate you. We could share tech!"

He was silent for a while, head bowed. He finally looked up with a frown. "We've been through this before. We can't 'share' anything. It's not our mandate."

"How about-"

"I appreciate-" he interrupted her. "-what you've done for us. You have helped us significantly, and please don't think I'm ungrateful. But our goals do not align."

She stared at him for a moment. "Right," she said, finally. "Of course."

"Thank you for updating me on the situation above ground. At the very least, if the NCR is less strong than our intel suggests, we could finally leave this area. Maybe re-join the California chapter."

The Courier could see Veronica step back in surprise. "Wait, no!" she said. "That's not really what I meant to-"

"You must understand," he said. "That our aims are not your aims. I would like to help - but I can't."

"Yeah," she said. "Okay. Thanks for your time."

Veronica followed her out of the room. The Courier turned back at the door to see McNamara resting his head in his hands.

"_Shit_," she said, when she was out of earshot. "That was totally not the outcome I wanted."

Veronica shrugged unhappily. "Maybe it's for the best."

"Just... fuck it," she said. "Come back to the city with me. Drinking and dancing? It'll cheer you right up!"

Veronica raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"We could bring Christine?" the Courier suggested.

A hint of a smile flickered over Veronica's face.

"Go get her," said the Courier. "It'll be fun."

"But the Elder..." she began.

The Courier rolled her eyes. "...is thinking of lifting the lockdown anyway. We'll sneak you guys back in through one of the vents or something if you like."

Veronica smiled slowly. "Okay," she said.

* * *

This needs a companion piece really badly. I'll try writing one tomorrow and see how far I get.


	10. And I'm Just a Devil

Christine seemed to get even smaller - if that was possible - once they were on the Strip. The crowds of people, laughing and yelling, music spilling out of the casino doors, and the securitrons trying to somehow keep order were overwhelming. She walked close behind Veronica as the Courier steered them through the crowds.

She left a message at reception to contact Cass and ask her to meet them, then shepherded everyone into the elevator of the Lucky 38 and hit the button for the top floor.

"What the goddamn hell was that?" asked Christine.

The Courier grinned. "Vegas. You get used to it. I'm just glad people are coming back."

"Is it always like this?" Christine asked, subdued.

"When everything's running properly, yes," she said. "Which, fortunately, seems to be the case. At the moment."

The elevator stopped at the penthouse suite. "So what I figured," said the Courier. "Is we get all dressed up here, and then head out. Sound good?"

"Dress up?" Christine sounded hesitant.

"It's fun!" said Veronica.

The Courier had thrown open her wardrobe and was tossing clothes over the back of the sofa next to it. "You don't have to," she said. "But I will be. I assume Ronnie will be, because when does she ever avoid an opportunity to dress up?"

Veronica laughed.

Christine picked up a faded brocade dress with a rose print on it. "This?" she asked, dubiously.

The Courier looked up briefly. "Go for it," she said. Christine went to the bathrooms to get changed.

"Did you take this off Vera's actual skeleton?" Veronica asked, holding up the dress from Vera's hotel room.

The Courier backed out of the closet. "It's washed," she said defensively. "You thought I'd just leave something like that there?"

"It just seems... odd. I don't know. Kind of like it still belongs to her." Veronica touched the silk rose at the hip gently.

"Why don't you wear it?" The Courier asked. "Pretty sure you'd look amazing."

"You don't want to?" Veronica held the dress a little closer.

"It's a statement dress," she replied, holding up a long white dress from the Ultra-Luxe. "I don't feel like making a statement tonight. You wear it. But if you try to take that shit back to the bunker I'll throw you in jail. Once I build one."

She poured three glasses of wine, handed one to Veronica, and put the last one on the table.

Christine walked back out, still wearing her combat boots.

"If anyone can pull off 'bald, pretty dress, and big black boots, it's you," said Veronica.

"It does actually kind of all fall together quite well," said the Courier. "Your turn, Ronnie."

Veronica seemed to take forever, but finally emerged from the bathroom nervously, wearing Vera's dress. Her shoulders were hunched protectively, but the dress looked stunning.

"You need to take that damn hood off," said Christine. "It looks ridiculous."

"She's kind of right," agreed the Courier. "I've got a feathery hat thing you can wear instead, if you want. It pins to your hair."

Veronica looked at it dubiously.

"Go on," said Christine. "You look so pretty with your hair out."

Veronica smiled nervously and took the offered hat, removing the hood and fixing it to her hair.

"I have some makeup in a box in the drawer," she said, taking her own dress to the bathroom to change. "Some charcoal thing for your eyes and red waxy shit to put on your lips, I don't know. Use what you like."

Having changed, the Courier looked into the mirror. She almost didn't recognise herself. Her hair was getting long again, which was irritating, but she was past the point of being able to hack at her own hair with any sharp thing she could find in order to stop it getting in her eyes. She examined her features in the reflection. Was that what they'd always looked like? Would she even notice if anything changed? She turned away, disturbed, and headed back out to the main room.

Boone came in while the three of them were crowded around the mirror. He took a step back, warily, then nodded at Christine.

"Hey!" the Courier turned, half-finished, one eye smudged with black and the other bare. "We're going dancing! Wanna come out?"

"No," he said carefully.

"It'll be fun?"

"Mm-hmm," he said. "Still no. You have fun."

"Fine," she said. "You know, I remember the days when you used to follow me everywhere without even asking where we were going."

He laughed quietly. "Different priorities."

"Your loss," she shrugged, and turned back to the mirror.

They met Cass at the casino floor. "Shit," she said. "If I'd known you were all going to dress right up I'd have made an effort at least."

The walls of the reception area of Flaming Star were completely covered in mirrors, which the Courier was grateful for, because the four of them made a goddamn fantastic-looking group. They passed the casino floor and headed to the back room.

One of the Kings was on stage, crooning into the microphone. Behind him was the band. There an elaborate machine that the Courier finally recognised as a drumset she'd seen in old pictures; a huge double bass, and a bass guitar. She stared. Where had they managed to find those?

They sat at a table near the corner and waved a waitress over, dressed in a sweater, poodle skirt, and white socks, to take their drinks orders.

"This is insane!" Christine said, raising her voice over the sound of the band. "I've only seen stuff like this in holotapes."

"It's the greatest place on earth," said the Courier. "Anything you want, you can get it here."

"That a good thing?" she asked.

"Better than most everywhere else, I hear."

By the time the waitress had brought the fourth round of drinks the table was getting rowdier.

"Did you know Mr. New Vegas isn't an actual person at all?" the Courier asked.

"Wait, what?" Cass stared. "What do you mean isn't an actual person?"

"I mean that he's like..." she searched for the right way to put it. "Like a robot without the body. Just a computer program. Doesn't exist."

Christine looked at them blankly. "Who are you even talking about?"

The Courier took another swallow of her drink. "He's the voice you hear on the radio. House had a really complex system where the program would write its own news stories based on voice snippets that got picked up by the securitrons. Emily's working on that, but... there are more important things that need to be done first."

Veronica was staring at her incredulously. "I don't even believe you."

"Tell me about it. That voice got me through some lonely nights, if you know what I mean," the Courier said. Cass almost choked with laughter.

"I'm not sure I want to," she said. "But I'll assume it's dirty."

"Always a good assumption." The Courier finished her drink.

Christine touched Veronica gently on the arm. "Let's go dance!"

Veronica half-stood, then turned back to the Courier. "You coming?"

The Courier was about to stand up, but a firm hand under the table around her wrist held her down.

"Nah, we'll sit this one out," said Cass. "There's drinking to be done. You kids go on."

They watched as they walked to the floor.

"They're _adorable_," said Cass. "Dear god."

"I know, right? I can't figure out what's going to happen, though. Christine broke up with Ronnie originally because of Elijah," the Courier explained. "Now he's dead, I'm not sure which way Christine's going to go."

Cass snorted. "Yeah. Brotherhood's into forced gender stereotypes, right? Bet you can't break brainwashing like that too easily."

They watched the pair dancing. There was a familiarity to their movements, a sense of comfortableness with each other. A hand on the other's back, a brief touching of fingertips.

"So cute," hissed Cass.

"Hey."

Startled, they both turned their heads to see a King standing at the table next to her. He looked familiar, but then again, they all kind of looked like each other.

"Hello," she said, slowly, trying to place him.

"It's Tommy," he said.

"Oh yeah!" she exclaimed. "You helped out with the fires back when we took the power out. Hey, good job, why don't you sit down?"

He shook his head. "Listen to me," he said. "Quickly. There's been some trouble about you pressuring the King, okay? Not everyone is happy with it. This isn't a good place for you to be right now."

The Courier felt the hair on the back of her neck start to rise. No gun. No bodyguards. Wearing the flimsiest of dresses.

"Fuck," she growled. "Are my friends safe?"

"Yeah. Probably a good idea if you left, though."

"Got it." She stood up. Cass did too.

"You don't have to leave," the Courier said. "Stay. Have fun."

"Like fuck," Cass said. "I don't wanna be looking over my shoulder all night. Or sitting at this table drinking alone. Jesus. We're getting you out of here, then I'll come back for the girls."

Tommy walked close behind her as they headed to the exit. He paused under the archway.

"The King sent me to get you out safely," he said. "He wants to deal with this in-house."

"Well okay," she said. "But I-"

She was cut off by a loud crack, and then Tommy fell into her. She stumbled, teetering on her heels, before Cass grabbed her arm and yanked her behind the cover of a wall.

She could hear Tommy groaning, a bright red bloodstain spreading over his shoulder. She kicked her heels off, hiked up her dress, and leaned out into the open towards him, grasping the pistol tucked into the back of his trousers.

"You armed?" she asked Cass.

"Of course I'm fucking armed," she snapped. "Why the fuck you ever give anyone all your weapons is beyond me."

The Courier rolled her eyes, tying the fabric of her dress into a knot high on her hip to keep it from tangling her legs. "Shot came from the balcony," she said. "So that's where we're going."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just fucking leave?" Cass said, incredulously. "We're right here. Send someone else in to sort this shit out."

The Courier shook her head. "Nah. If someone takes a shot at me, we hit him hard, we hit him fast. I gotta show I can take care of it, or else everyone will be doing it. Now, come on."

She ran out of cover and ducked behind a pillar carpeted in red velvet. No one shot at her, so she started moving again, low to the ground, past casino tables and nervous punters and even crawled under the baby grand piano near the corner.

The Kings hadn't made any structural changes to the casino, and she knew the old layout of Gomorrah well. She rounded the corner back into the room with the stage, gun outstretched, and came face-to-face with the King. She stood there a moment, breathing heavily, before raising the pistol.

"I can take it from here, ma'am," he said.

"Bullshit," she said, with a little less conviction than she was really feeling. "I can't just let this go." She was acutely aware that her dress was tied up not only messily, but verging on indecently high. She bit her lip viciously, trying to fight a mortifying blush.

"I know," he said. "It's inexcusable. He will be punished."

Cass had caught up, and was eyeing the King with a lot less patience than the Courier. Veronica and Christine were standing next to her.

"Come on," said Cass. "Let's get him."

"Punished _how_?" the Courier asked.

The King sighed. "We've been talking about a jailhouse. When it's all fixed up, he can be the first resident. I can't let this happen in my house, ma'am, any more than you can let it happen in yours."

She straightened up. "Fine," she said, and handed him the pistol. She turned on her heel, and walked with as much dignity as she could muster back towards the exit.

"Okay, what?" Cass was nearly running to keep up. "You just _said_-"

"I can't challenge him in his place. Too many Kings," she said, but her heart wasn't in it. She picked her shoes up. Tommy was sitting in the corner, the receptionist attempting to take the bullet out with a pair of tweezers. She waved at him half-heartedly. "Just take the girls to the Tops, okay? I'm going home."

The elevator rose in silence. When the door opened, the Courier threw her shoes off the balcony towards the wardrobe. Boone looked up.

"You're back early," he said, standing up. His rifle was in pieces on the table in front of him. He took a step towards her. "Is that blood?"

The Courier looked down to see a red smear down one side of the dress. "Not mine," she said bitterly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Trouble with the Kings. Doesn't matter. Kiss me."

He did.

The next morning, she woke up with one of Boone's arms under her neck and the other curled across her stomach. She blinked at him in the early morning light, and just for a moment, her heart felt so full it seemed like it might burst.

* * *

This chapter actually physically hurt to write. I can only hope it wasn't as painful to read. New direction next chapter!


	11. With Love to Spare

Edit: I know no one likes a reuploader, but apparently it hadn't loaded properly? Anyway, trying again. Also holding breath for Honest Hearts OMG HURRY UP ALREADY

I wish you could call Caesar on his history being shit. The actual 'empire' part of the Roman Empire kind of fell to shit two people down the line after Julius' nephew Augustus, and then Augustus' stepson Tiberius died. Caligula was a nut, Claudius was a peaceful nut, and then Nero was a creepy nut, and then everyone was like "FUCK THIS FAMILY" and then the Praetorian Guard started picking their emperors based on what would benefit them most and people started bribing them for positions and things went about as well, leadership-wise, as you'd expect them to. Why you'd model a dynasty on a short-lived network of bribes, marriages, and poisonings is honestly beyond me. But that's what you get if you do a completely uncritical reading of Gibbon, I guess.

Also I think the Romans were surprisingly accepting of other religions, though culturally it did value homogeneity. I know it was kind of fashionable to join in Eleusinian and other mystery religions.

I kind of accept that historians (me too I guess) tend to romanticise them (lol pun) because we have such good sources from that period and a whole lot of culture like Ovid and Juvenal. The Romans were really vicious in battle, admittedly, but after winning a battle over a territory they were much more likely to appoint a governor and let him tax the shit out of the place rather than kill the men and enslave the women.

..I had a quick chat with Caesar in preparation for Honest Hearts.

Anyway, I'm painfully aware that no one cares. Storytime.

* * *

The sun was setting over the city, casting long shadows across the plains. The Courier and Boone sat up in the low hills of the mountain range north of the city, under an overhanging rock.

"You're quiet," said Boone.

The Courier lifted her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "You have to go back," she said.

He nodded.

"I -" he began. "I'll miss you."

"Yeah," she said, voice thick.

"It's not for that long," he said. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Mm-hmm."

"I wanted to say - thank you-"

"Oh, no no no," said the Courier. "You don't get to make this into a goodbye forever. No chance."

"That's not what I meant," he said, tersely. "Just - I'm not sure what I'd be doing right now if you hadn't come into town."

She raised a critical eyebrow. "Novac got hit pretty hard by the Legion, didn't it?"

He didn't reply.

"So maybe that wish of yours would have finally come true."

He looked at her, silently,wary and hurt.

"Sorry," she said. "That's not - I shouldn't have. Sorry."

He nodded slowly. "It's okay. You're probably right."

The Courier looked down, at the dust and grit beneath them. She reached out a hand and traced the a spiral pattern.

"Do you still think about her a lot?" she asked quietly.

He became very still, and gave her a long, measuring stare. The question hadn't been expected, but that was the only way the Courier had been able to ask it, abrupt and sudden.

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" he asked.

She forced a smile. "I guess that kind of answers my question, doesn't it?"

He didn't reply.

"It hadn't been long, had it?" she asked. "When I first met you?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said carefully. "But I really don't want to discuss this with you."

She blinked at him. "Oh. Uh, okay."

"It's just - I don't know. It's mine." He shifted stiffly, shoulders tense. "It's the only thing I - have left of her." he sighed. "But no, it hadn't been long," he said. "It'd been... two weeks since I got back from Cottonwood. Maybe more. Wasn't sleeping." He sat forward, a little, too far forward for the Courier to see his face. "Still feel - I don't know. It doesn't feel like I want to get revenge any more," he said. "It's just... empty. Missing."

The Courier bit her lip hard and turned her head to the west, gazing into the sunset.

He kept looking out at the casinos on the Strip, and further past them to the skeletal remains of the buildings further south. "It's... strange. To be... accepted again. To not have to hide what I've done. Don't really know what I did to deserve someone like you."

She laughed bitterly. "You've always thought like that. There's no fucking balance sheet, it's just... it's just life. Sometimes things are good, sometimes they're bad. Usually they're bad."

"You've always tried to do good things."

"I guess. More or less. I'm pretty sure it couldn't have gone any other way, though. Hell, I ran into the Legion in Nipton and then straight after that I found you in Novac, and I guess with both of those combined it was pretty much set."

She grimaced, remembering. Burning flesh and rubber, the wind whipping sandstorms through the rows of crosses. Corpses in a pile, singed hair and hands curling into fists as the fire shrivelled their tendons. She shivered and tried to erase the images from her head. "I mean, maybe if, instead of you, I'd met some handsome Legion type who'd swept me of my feet, I'd have gone that way," she grinned. "Instead I meet a creepy guy in a dog head hat who's getting off on murdering a town. Terrible PR."

There was a telltale narrowing of his eyes before he looked away.

"I am actually joking," she said, hurriedly. "I wouldn't have sided with them. They're dicks."

"It's not really that funny," he said.

The Courier was about to protest this, to ask how he couldn't laugh at a defeated enemy, crippled and toothless, little more than a memory as the tattered remains slunk back east. But it wasn't just a memory to him, was it?

"Yeah," she said instead. "I guess it's not. I didn't - I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright," he said, quietly. "But... what I was trying to say was, you helped me," he said. "You didn't have to."

"I help everyone," she said. "I just wanted to get into your pants."

He drew back a little in surprise.

She relented. "I'm joking," she admitted. "Again. Mostly. Just - don't make me out to be anything special. It makes me nervous. Like I'm going to do something to fuck it all up. I really don't feel like I deserve any of this."

"I thought no one deserved anything."

"Ahaha," she said. "Fuck you." But she was grinning.

"You worked for it." He shrugged.

"Stumbled into it when I should have been dead."

"Spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to kill as few people as possible," he said. "Except Legion."

"Didn't plan well enough and paying for it now," she countered.

"You don't have to be perfect."

She laughed. "Ask literally anyone in New Vegas if I'm anything close to perfect," she said. "Odds are you'll get a colourful variety of answers."

"So what would you rather be doing instead?"

She blinked. "What?"

"If you weren't doing this," he asked. "Then what?"

Her mind was a complete blank. "I have no idea."

"You might want to think about that." He scanned the darkening horizon.

She watched tumble weeds blow across the plains. Wind-Brahmin. She smiled.

"So what's your stuff with Usanagi like?" she asked.

He looked at her for so long that she thought he wasn't going to reply. Finally he looked away. "It's not how I thought it'd be." He fell silent again.

"Is that good?" asked the Courier, when it was clear he wasn't going to continue.

"I don't know," he said.

There was another long silence.

"If you got captured by enemies," she said. "And they were interrogating you, you'd be really fucking good at not telling them a goddamn thing."

He smiled his rare smile and shook his head.

"Seriously," she continued. "Why they put you in First Recon instead of some sort of undercover shit I'll never know."

He looked at her for a moment, gaze flicking from one of her eyes to the other, then finally spoke. "Thought with Usanagi it'd be more of - I don't know. What we were getting told straight afterwards. That we'd done what we were told to. That we'd had no choice. Sometimes, that we hadn't done anything wrong at all."

He looked into her eyes guardedly. She nodded.

He set his jaw. "But it's - it's..." He frowned. "We - I - have to go over what I feel like I should have done. Or could have done. And then... I don't know. Come to terms with it."

"Does it help?"

"I don't _know_," he said. "I've been twice." He gave a sigh. "I asked Betsy, once, what it was like, and she said, 'you don't get better, you just get different'. So I don't know."

The Courier nodded. She couldn't think of the right words.

"I just - I wish there wasn't anything else," she said. "That we were just two normal people. And we didn't have to do anything for anyone."

"We both made our choices," he said.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I guess we have to live with them." She rested her forehead on her knees.

She felt a hand on her back, warm and comforting. "I'll come back," he said. "It'll be okay."

"You don't know that," she said, her voice small and muffled. "You can't promise that. I can't do all this on my own."

"You seem like you're doing just fine," he said.

She sighed, and raised her head. "Well that's just it, I'm not. Everything's only just hanging together. It's too big for me. There's more I need to be doing, there's so much that

"You don't need me here to fix that." His gaze was piercing, and she had to look away.

"I _want_ you here," she muttered. "How's that for a compromise?"

He reached over and smoothed a curl of hair behind her ear. "You're strong. You're going to be okay."

She raised a dubious eyebrow.

"You are," he insisted. "Stronger than you know."

She watched the dust blowing over the plains in the dying light.

"I'm going to miss you too," she said, eventually.

He reached his arm around her and pulled her closer. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "If anything happens here," he said. "I'll come back. I promise. I've still got your back."

She smiled, despite herself. "Just... be careful," she said. "That's all I want you to do while you're away."

"I'll write to you."

Her smile widened. "You said that last time. And I said I'd write to you first. And then neither of us did."

"I tried," he said. "Started maybe ten letters. Never seemed to come out right."

"I don't even care what they'd say," she said. "But I guess the NCR would have to go through communications that you'd send and receive, wouldn't they? I'd get some sort of shredded piece of paper in the mail two months after you'd sent it."

"Yeah," he said. "Probably."

"And they'd be picking over anything I sent to you trying to find things to use against me."

There was a pause. "They might do," said Boone, eventually.

They sat in silence

"You don't talk as much as you used to," he said.

"People actually listen to me these days," she said, curling her lip. "I have to watch what I say. Be diplomatic and shit."

"I kind of liked that about you."

"What, that I say a bunch of stupid shit on a routine basis?"

He shook his head. "That you don't censor yourself. Always know where you stand."

She smiled, surprised. Absurdly flattered. "You didn't think it was really annoying?"

He shrugged. "You had your moments."

She punched him on the arm as hard as she could, which, judging by his reaction, didn't hurt in the slightest. "Fuck," she said. "Maybe I won't miss you."

"That's more like it," he said. "Moping doesn't really suit you."

"I am not 'moping'," she muttered. "I'm... scared, I guess. That I can't handle the city. That you - you won't come back, or..." She let it trail off. "You know how I feel about you," she said miserably.

He looked at her, eyes so clear and tender that it made her breath catch in her throat, and he reached up a hand to touch her face. "You're..." The sentence faded.

She grinned. It wasn't an easy grin, but it was there. "You don't have to say anything," she said, standing up. She brushed the dirt off her trousers. "Come on. Let's go back."


	12. How I Wish

I feel really weird about this chapter.

Is the PSN back up yet? I hope it is, Honest Hearts is definitely good quality.

* * *

A kiss on her lips she could still feel. A quick goodbye - because neither of them liked goodbyes - and then the hiss of the monorail as it left the station on the Strip.

The Courier turned away and began to walk back out to the street, face as still as a mask, avoiding the gazes from the soldiers that turned to watch her leave.

The click of her heels on the concrete floor as she took step by painful step was the only thing reminding her she was still moving. She felt almost as if she was floating.

Boone had given her a single bullet from his anti-materiel rifle before he left. She clutched it like a talisman. Like some stupid tribal. It was huge, almost the same length as her hand. She touched the gently pointed tip and imagined it piercing someone's skull. She'd seen what the anti-materiel rifle could do, of course. Legion corpses strewn across the Dam with half their faces blown off, brain tissue smeared across the walls, chests reduced to snarls of flesh and skin. They wouldn't know what hit them.

Her feet carried her back to the 38. She had something to do. Didn't she? She always had something to do.

Cass snagged her arm as she was getting into the elevator. She looked up blankly.

"You look like hell," she said. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

"Don't look at me then," she said, irritably. "Boone's gone. That's all."

Cass cast a critical eye over her. "Come on," she said. "Let's head up to the Penthouse. Sort you out."

The Courier shrugged, and let Cass lead her up to her rooms and settle her on the sofa with a glass of whiskey.

She took the bullet out of her pocket and held it, warm in her hands.

"Fuck me," said Cass, as she sat down on the opposite sofa with her glass. "Is that how big a 50 cal is? Shit. Did he give you that so you won't get too lonely while he's away?" She smirked.

The Courier stared at her while her brain slowly made sense of the sentence. She felt foggy, almost unreal. She put the bullet down on the table.

"That," she said, finally. "Is filthy. You are filthy. A filthy slut."

"Being a filthy slut can get you a long way." Cass said mildly. "You know you're being a huge baby about this, right?"

"Fuck you."

"That was the most pathetic 'fuck you' I've ever heard."

The Courier glared. "Are you going to make me do some push ups or something? What's with this fucking 'drill sergeant' thing?

Cass grinned. "You need to harden up." She sat forward a little in her chair. "Yeah, it hurts, but you've gotta be a big girl. There are a lot of people depending on you. And in a place like this, you've got to look like you're keeping it together. And right now you don't."

The Courier's glare faded. "Okay," she said. "Alright. That makes sense. Don't know why you had to be such a fucking bitch about it though."

"It got you angry," said Cass. "Which is what I was trying to do. Stop you from being all mopey."

"Whatever," said the Courier. She folded her arms. "You're fired. Go back to the Mojave Outpost."

Cass laughed. "That's my girl." She topped up the Courier's drink. "Now, I gotta head out of town for a bit-"

"Again?" complained the Courier. "You've only been back like a week."

Cass shrugged. "That's business for you."

"Where are you going?"

"Ahh-" Cass began. "I'm trying to keep this quiet. But - I guess I can tell you. There's a trading post a little way north that rumour has it has fallen out of contact. If I can get up there and re-establish trading links before anyone else does, that's a huge amount of trade for Cassidy Caravans." She coughed. "It's a little underhanded though. Seeing as there are other caravan companies in that area already. Not really good manners. But hey," she shrugged. "Anyone's game, right?"

"Isn't that a little... dangerous?" asked the Courier.

"Nah," said Cass. "Done it a couple times. Other caravans might get a little pissy, but I'll hire the best damn guards I can get."

"I mean like why is no one able to contact them?"

Cass shrugged. "Could be a rockslide, could be a Yao Guai problem. Either way, I'm taking some heavy ordinance."

"The fuck is a Yao Guai?" asked the Courier.

"Ah, they're fucking huge," said Cass, shaking her head. "Giant claws and teeth and stuff."

"Like a deathclaw?"

"Nah, like... like a... like a really big dog. And they use their front legs to scratch things, and open tins with their claws and stuff."

The Courier raised an eyebrow. "I kind of feel like I should come with you. Keep you out of trouble."

Cass laughed. "Pretty sure you need to stay here to keep New Vegas out of trouble. Look what happened the last time you left the city."

"The fucking robot's not a problem any more," she complained. "He's locked up in a tiny computer on my desk." She waved towards the terminal.

"Sweetheart," said Cass. "If it's not the robot it'll be something else. You know how this goes."

"I'm still not that happy about it. I mean, what's up there? Apart from huge hairy dogs with claws."

Cass shrugged. "Tribals, mostly. They're pretty peaceful. In general. The community we'll be trying to link up with is a bunch of Mormons though. Weird people. Don't drink."

The Courier looked down at the glass in her hand. "Uh, okay. Better take a shitload with you, then."

"Planning on it." She rolled her eyes.

"Are you really sure you don't want me to come along?"

Cass shook her head. "As much as I enjoy your company, you'll be more of a liability than an asset on this trip. Sorry to be harsh, but it's the truth."

"Fine," grumbled the Courier. "I'm fucking bankrolling your trip, though. In an investment capacity. So you have to pay me back and give preferential trading agreement things and stuff like that. I'll have someone write up a contract. I don't want you to get eaten. Brush guns and anti-materiel rifles for everyone. "

"Oh, yeah," said Cass, eyeing the bullet still lying on the table. "Now I won't be getting too lonely on the trip either."

The Courier stood up, snatching the bullet and dropping it into her jacket pocket.

"You got a - just a little, uh, bit of a bulge going on there," Cass said, not trying very hard to hold back a smile.

The Courier glared in mock-anger. "I can still send everyone on your caravan tour along with BB guns and 9 mils," she said. "So you watch your mouth, young lady."

Cass laughed, standing up as well. "'Young', she says. Okay. Well, thanks for offering to help. I've gotta go check how our plans are going. We shouldn't be away for more than... three weeks or so. You won't even realise I'm gone."

The Courier shrugged. "I should check in with Benny, I guess. Um - thanks."

Cass shook her head. "No problem. Take care."

Benny wasn't in the cocktail lounge when the Courier arrived, so she went down to the Presidential Suite. It had been a long time since she'd been down here last, and even longer since she'd been a resident herself. Benny had cleared out most of what he saw as "the useless junk" - though he'd left the pool table. He offered the Courier a drink and led her to a seat in the lounge.

"So. You keep Yes Man in a box on your desk," he said. "Is that some kind of power thing or what?"

She grinned. "You're always trying to analyse me," she said. "What are you trying to find out, exactly?"

"You're still something of a mystery." He blew out a stream of smoke from his cigarette. "I'm still trying to figure you out."

"Seriously? I'm about as complex as a fucking rock."

"I think that's just what you want everyone to think," he said. His tone was light, but his eyes were serious.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's part of my master plan to take over New Vegas," she said. "Oh wait."

Benny grinned. "I'll figure you out one day."

"Let me know when you do," she said. "I'd be keen to hear about it myself. Hey, did Swank ever get those tigers? He was so excited about them."

Benny's eyes glittered. "Nope," he said. "Turned out to be a pack of coyotes with stripes painted on. He wasn't so happy about that. You should probably not mention them around him, really."

"That's too bad," said the Courier. "I was looking forward to seeing them. Oh hey, that reminds me, do you know what a Yao Guai is?"

Benny raised a confused eyebrow. "It's, uh, some type of bear, right?"

The Courier's eyes grew large. "A... bear? Like the NCR flag?"

"I think they only have one head. But don't quote me on that."

"You ever see one?"

"You don't really get them this far south," he said. "Why, anyway?"

"Cass is about to head through their territory, apparently."

"What the hell for?"

"I think she's stealing a caravan route," said the Courier. "But I may have understood her wrong."

Benny grinned. "Good for her," he said. "We like entrepreneurs in this town."

The Courier looked into the depths of her glass. "So, I have a question."

He looked at her expectantly. "So go ahead."

"The Boot Riders," she began.

Benny's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Were there girl Boot Riders or was it like a marauding tribe of dudes? Honestly I've been trying to figure it out for ages."

He watched her warily. "Yeah, there were dames," he said, finally.

"No dames in the Chairmen, though."

He sighed. "They didn't fit with the 'image' House wanted."

"So you just cut them loose?" The glass of scotch was starting to grow warm in her hands.

He shrugged irritably. "We didn't send them back out into the desert. They're still around. Waitresses and reception and -" the smallest of pauses- "working girls. You know."

"Just so you could put on some fancy clothes and spin some roulette wheels?"

Benny sneered. "'Just'? Show me any goddamn two-bit gang in the wasteland who'd turn down an offer like that. You know what the average life expectancy is out there? Twenty-eight. Excuse me for taking an easy out."

"Did you just make that up?" she asked. "Twenty-eight, I mean."

Benny stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Nah. Something Swank told me. _He_ probably made it up though." His grin didn't reach his eyes.

The Courier could feel the hair on the back of her neck start to rise. "Everything okay with the Ben-Man?" she asked, slowly.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "No problems. How's things going with Emily?"

She shifted minutely in her chair. "Says that House's systems were... complex. That they weren't designed to work without an actual consciousness controlling it. Unpacking all that's going to be difficult."

Benny sighed. "Is everything going to fall to shit because we don't have anything like that running right now?"

"Should be okay. If nothing else goes wrong." She put her drink down, untouched.

He shook his head. "Then fine. Whatever. As long as things keep going."

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah. We can do that."


	13. That There Were More

I actually get more excited about reviews than about my pay notifications. That's kind of sad. But then again, I always know what my payslips are going to say.

This one's been in my head for a while.

* * *

"Thanks for coming to see me." Arcade took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes wearily. Through the laboratory window, long blue shadows stretched across the grounds of the Mormon Fort.

"No problem," she said. "What can I help you with?"

"This is-" he began, pushing himself away from his desk. "This is awkward. Why don't we take a walk?"

The Courier wrinkled her nose and glanced down at her stiletto heels.

He followed her gaze. "I don't know why you bother with those. They're hell on your knees. And your back."

She shrugged. "Benny says my presence without the extra inches isn't sufficiently intimidating. They're fine. Let's walk."

Freeside was quiet under the setting sun, caught in the lull between the flood of people going home after work and the throng of people about to hit the Strip.

"So," said Arcade, a little awkwardly. "No bodyguards?"

She grinned ruefully. "Just trying to make the most of not having someone looking over my shoulder constantly. I'm pushing it, yeah, I know."

They turned a corner. The Courier looked sidelong at Arcade curiously. He was deep in thought, brow furrowed.

"The past few months," he began. "Have been hard in a lot of ways. It's been a time of adjustment, really, and it -" he paused. "I know it hasn't been easy for you, either, there's been a lot to deal with, and, uh, the majority of-"

She looked up at him, confused. "What are you trying to say?"

He stopped, and turned to face her. "You said you wanted New Vegas to be independent."

"I do."

"Yet yours and Benny's leadership works against that, wouldn't you say?"

"I - what?" She blinked up at him.

"I mean," he said, uncomfortably. "You've essentially just taken over the reigns from House. You're not letting it be independent. It has to find its own feet as a city. You can't hold its hand the whole way."

She rubbed a hand across her face. "Seriously? You think that if I just said 'fuck it' and left tomorrow, everything would be fine? Because all I can imagine is a fucking week-long looting and rape-fest. If that's your idea of a good time, I think the rest of the Fiends went north-west-ish."

"I think you're not giving the community enough credit. The securitrons can keep order, to begin with."

She looked at him disbelievingly. "I would have thought that out of anyone, you'd understand that they're not practical law enforcement tools."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, me out of anyone?"

"I mean the securitrons are just- they're not human enough. They only know one fucking way to solve a crime, and that's by shooting anyone their sensors tell them is a hostile. That is not an acceptable response, people get drunk and mad and they're likely to take a goddamn swing at anything in this town. We need people that can calm them down without blowing their head off. I thought you'd be right into the whole 'not shooting everyone we possibly can' angle."

Arcade shook his head. "_Listen to me_. What I'm saying is you should leave that to the community to self-regulate. Community militias. It works in Westside-"

"What works in Westside," growled the Courier. "Is not automatically what's going to work in Freeside. You know just as goddamn well as I do that these people have been living in poverty most of their lives. Half of them have chem habits, the other half have had friends and family murdered in front of them. What the fuck do you think is going to happen when someone hands them a gun and tells them to _fucking self-regulate_?" Her last words had come out loud enough to echo off the buildings around them. She stood, fists clenched and eyes burning. "If you think they wouldn't destroy absolutely everything within a month, you're being way too charitable."

"It's worked for seven damn years with minimal problems," he said. "You're inflating the issue. The securitrons can handle things. I know things aren't completely operational at the moment, but you'd just need to set an earlier version of Yes Man up to run basic functions and take orders."

She rolled her eyes. "Not only is that robot more fucking trouble than it's worth, but I think what you're ignoring is that the securitrons can be taken out really fucking easily and _everyone knows_ how."

"We can fix that," Arcade said, a little impatiently. "It'll be simple enough to set up a Faraday cage around the essential equipment."

"A what?"

He folded his arms. "It's a - a metal box that doesn't let electricity through."

Knowing that he was dumbing down the explanation for her made her even angrier. "It'll still take out securitrons caught in individual blasts, they just need to hit several locations at once. Or have like five fucking pulse guns, I doubt the one I have is the only one ever. In case you're not paying attention there are a lot of people interested in New Vegas, okay?" She took a step forward, glaring up at Arcade through his glasses. "Do you actually fucking understand? There is the barest chance that the NCR aren't trying to come up with a strategy to hit the city right now. Then there's the Boomers, the Brotherhood, and whatever's left of the Legion and whatever the fuck they're doing, and the one thing they all have in common is they're waiting for the Vegas leadership to weaken."

"So what you've decided to do is hold on to that leadership as long as you possibly can, for the good of the people," he said, flatly. "You know, I had really high hopes that maybe you weren't all talk. That maybe you actually wanted to help these people."

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" she snarled.

"From down here on the ground it seems like 'living the high life while people around you die in poverty'."

It was as if she had been struck dumb. She was lost for words. "I don't - I-"

"You think people don't see you for what you really are? You're a kid who stumbled into a kingship. You have no _divine right_ to rule over New Vegas. It doesn't belong to you."

"Of course it doesn't," she said, suddenly weary. "If it belonged to anyone, it belonged to House. He was the one who put his goddamn life and soul into making it what it is. But I killed him."

"It didn't belong to him either," Arcade said tersely. "It belongs to everyone who lives in it. No more and no less than anyone else."

"Are you basing this on one of your pre-war failed economic theories or something? Everyone is equal and deserves exactly the same as the person next to them? Everyone is going to be completely responsible and not kill the theoretical person next to them for his share?"

"They're not monkeys," he snapped. "They're people. If you'd just for one minute suspend your disbelief that they are actually capable of surviving on their own, without your constant oversight. They were here before you."

"And look how well they were doing!" she said. "Huffing chems in the gutter and trying to lure people into alleyways to stab them."

Arcade opened his mouth, but the Courier kept talking. "_Yes I know_ that Westside isn't like that. Westide's fine. It's just if you let_ Freeside_ do what it wants, it's going to overrun everything. It'll eat Westside alive."

"I didn't realise you were such an expert on community behaviour," he said. "Please excuse me, I defer to your obviously superior knowledge."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to score points or tell me off? How about you just pick one and stick with it?"

He glared back, eyes fierce through his glasses. "You toppled the last dictator and now you've taken his place. These people need to learn how to survive on their own."

"What?" she snapped. "House wanted a fucking _space programme_. You're being ridiculous. I'm doing what is necessary."

"So that's it? You've made the decision all by yourself?"

"There's no other feasible option at the moment," she snapped.

Arcade was silent a long time. "In that case, I don't think I can help you any further. I can't stay here and watch you segue this city into another dictatorship."

Her eyes widened. Too far. She'd pushed him too far and he'd called her bluff.

The thought of trying to set up city facilities without his help was daunting. He was a source of knowledge that covered pretty much everything the Courier needed to know; logistics and supplies, public services and access to facilities, working with community groups, energy conservation and job creation. Without him, everything she'd worked for might fall apart. She realised she was gaping in horror, and closed her mouth, frantically trying to backpedal.

"Um. Well, obviously I don't want to be doing this forever," she stammered.

"Really?" Arcade sounded skeptical. She wasn't really sure herself. The good days were great, sure. But the bad days were black, filled with frustration, the odd bullet graze, and the gnawing sensation that maybe she couldn't fix a goddamn thing, no matter how hard she tried.

"Of course," she said. It sounded unconvincing to her own ears, so she tried again. "Look, there's just so much to be done - I need you. I need your help."

He folded his arms. "Well, this does go both ways, you know. I'm not going to help you forever while you become richer and richer and the city crumbles around you. I think it's time for me to move on."

"I'm doing the best I can for the city," she insisted. "I want to leave a city that has the ability to regulate itself, not just one which might be able to one day. It's taking more building than I thought it would, and I _am_ sorry for that, but if you leave now it'll make things worse for people. And I don't want that to happen."

She bit her lip in a calculated gesture and looked up at him. He had his head tilted to one side, face set in a frown. She decided to give another nudge to tip the balance back towards her side.

"I want to re-settle the refugees at Bitter Springs," she said. "The NCR doesn't want to waste troops defending a bunch of kids from villages or tribes. They're traumatised, though, and I think they'll need special help integrating into our city. I'll be happy to work with you on some sort of timeline for elections, if you want. After the really urgent things are done, though."

He shook his head. "Fine," he said, quietly. "Okay, I'll stick around. I will need your assurance that you do intend to hold elections in the near future, though."

"Absolutely," she said, relief flooding through her.

"You're getting more and more like him, you know."

"Like who?"

"Like Benny," he said, and turned his back on her. She watched him until he turned a corner and then swore quietly. It was getting harder to keep everything together. She folded her arms, and glaring darkly, started back to the Strip. She had a fucking headache.


	14. Than The Twenty Four

I have the BEST reviewers. Jesus Christ I love all of you.

* * *

"Don't you get lonely, doll?"

The Courier had to lean close to hear him. They were at the Aces, the bar in the Tops, listening to the latest round of auditions. The current act was an all-ghoul barbershop quartet. Their harmonies combined with their raspy voices was oddly pleasant.

"You mean with Cass gone?" She raised an eyebrow. "I still got you to drink with."

"That wasn't what I meant," he replied. "Well, maybe it was. I never know with you and Red."

The Courier gave him a grin that was half sneer. "Get your head outta the gutter."

He held his hands up. "Lady like you on her own, people talk."

She sat back in her seat, and shifted uncomfortably when the pistol she had tucked into the back of her skirt poked her in the spine. "Who said anything about me being a lady?"

Benny's eyes sparkled. "I'll drink to that."

The Courier cocked her head to one side, and chewed on her lip before speaking. "So, I've been wondering about this for a while. How do you stay in such good shape? Serious question. I've put on like twenty pounds since I stopped running halfway across the wasteland every day. But you've been here what, like ten years? And you look great."

"Seven years," he said. "And thank you. First off, I don't start drinking at ten in the morning, unlike some others I could mention. Now, second – and this is my personal rule to live by – I never send anyone else to do my dirty work."

She laughed darkly. "Yeah. The personal touch. I remember it well."

He smiled. "Now, baby, you know I'm real sorry about that."

She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, if I remember right, that approach got you into some trouble as well."

"Don't I know it! Do you know, Baldy took great pleasure in telling me that you would be the one to decide how I was going to die?"

Her eyes lit up. "No way. Holy shit. I can't believe I missed out on that. Fuck! If I'd known, I totaly wouldn't have gone in guns blazing."

"You're a real sweet kid," Benny said sarcastically.

"Oh, no, I'm not saying I would have killed you," she said. "Just would have gloated for a while. You'd just taken that fucking chip off me again. I mean, I was kind of pissed, but not enough to have you crucified or something."

"His second-favourite option was going to be a machete fight to the death."

"What, me against you, single combat?" She laughed. "Fuck that. What was he going to do if you won?"

"_When_ I won, I think you'd find." He grinned. "But I got no answer for you. I doubt he would have let me go after that."

"I don't know," said the Courier. "He seemed like the type to have all these ideas about fair play and winning your freedom. Plus, stealth boys and stowing away on the fucking raft from Cottonwood to the Fort… that takes balls. I've been on that raft and it is not a big raft."

He leaned forward, eyes curious. "Is there something you want, baby? Not that I don't appreciate the cheerleading."

She smiled self-consciously and tucked her legs up under her. "You said- a while back you said I could knife-fight."

"I said you _tried_ to fight me with a knife. Not quite the same thing."

She shook her head irritably. "What else did I do? Did I say anything?"

Benny grinned. "If I recall correctly, you told me to "fuck off".

The Courier looked down at the glass in her hands.

Benny lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean for things to turn out this way."

"Yeah," she said. "I kind of figured that." She felt his eyes watching her and emptied her glass.

She looked back up. "Can you teach me how to knife-fight? Properly?"

Benny raised an eyebrow, amused. "I could show you a few things. What for? You feeling threatened?"

She folded her arms. "I don't know. It's something that could come in useful."

"Is there something you're not telling me, doll?"

She didn't answer.

He shrugged. "Your call. I should warn you though, most of the time you get into a knife fight, you don't know it's a knife fight until you've already been stabbed. And sometimes not for a while after that. Someone gets you good, that feels more like a punch, until suddenly your knees won't hold you up anymore."

There was a faint smile on his face. She couldn't quite figure out what it was. Memories of past victories, maybe. The ridiculousness of bleeding slowly to death. Not noticing you'd been killed until it was too late.

"Why don't we go – say, up to the roof?" he continued. "Lots of room to move, no one making a scene, and the securitrons won't go nuts trying to figure out who should get shot first."

The Courier grinned. "Why the hell not?"

The sun beat down on the two of them as they stepped out onto the roof of the Tops. She'd never seen the Strip from this angle before. It felt strangely alien.

Benny handed her one of his knives. He took off his jacket and tie, and rolled his shirt sleeves up. The Courier stepped out of her heels. The concrete rooftop was hot under her bare feet.

"Okay. Basically, if you're somehow having a knife fight, you want to stop being in a knife fight as quickly as possible. Get in; get out." He ran a critical eye over her. "You're not much of a close-combat kind of gal, are you?"

She shook her head. "Not really my thing. That's why I need to learn, though."

"I guess a little thing like you is better of trying to knife someone rather than taking a swing at them," he said. "Although that skirt's not gonna let you move properly."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not taking it off."

He smiled at her. "Up to you."

He settled into a fighting stance, legs bent and arms raised. She looked down dubiously at the knife in her hand and attempted to mimic him.

"Right. Okay. Keep your hands up, you're leaving yourself open otherwise." He walked in a semicircle in front of her, studying her. "Now," he continued. "I learned on a - well, let's not go into that, but what we could do is string up a brahmin carcass for you to practice your moves properly. Takes a fair bit of weight behind a killing stab, a lot of the time."

Her eyes followed him as he moved.

"You gotta be fast," he continued. "And another thing is, you gotta be okay with moving in close." He stepped in close towards her, knocking her free hand out of the way. They stood inches apart, the tip of his blade touching a spot between her ribs lightly. She could smell his cologne, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing.

"See, you'd be dead, there, angel," he murmured, his breath warm on her skin. "Someone gets in this close, you can't do much about it. It's why it's so dangerous." For some reason she couldn't say a word.

He stepped back, at last. "Now you're a little smaller than most, so don't have no compunctions about fighting dirty." He held up a hand. "Though I'd really rather you didn't practice that on me."

"Got it," she said, fighting to keep her voice even.

"Now, if you try and do the same thing to me as I did to you..." She attempted to step in, but his hand caught her wrist before she could raise the blade. "That's one way of doing it," he said, demonstrating. "You could also block that by hitting that either back-" he demonstrated - "Or down. Got it?"

"Barely?"

"You'll pick it up," he said. "Now, I'm going to attack you again. You try and stop me. And then we'll work on some counter-attacks."

His first strike was slow and lazy, the blade gleaming as it moved like a fish swimming through water. She stepped out of range of the arcing movement.

"That's good," he said, turning the knife over in his hands. "That's good. Keeping away from the knife isn't a bad strategy."

The blade leaped again, and this time she stepped inwards towards him, using the hand that held her own knife to hit his wrist out of the swing.

"You're picking this up fast," he said. There was a gleam in his eye that put her on edge. He took a swipe at her face, and only a leap backwards put enough distance between them so she didn't get hit. Suddenly it didn't seem much like a training fight any more. The street was far below them, far enough that no one would even hear a goddamn thing.

"That's enough," she said. He kept coming towards her. She backed up further, stopping only when her feet hit the ledge at the edge of the rooftop.

He was close, now, too close. She fumbled for the pistol tucked into her waistband, hands panicky and tugging at fabric, trying to gain purchase. She finally freed it and and aimed it at him.

"Stop," she growled.

He smiled and held up his hands. "And that's probably the most important lesson you should learn. You bring a gun to a knife fight? That makes you the winner."

She didn't lower the gun.

"Don't tell me I scared you, angel," he said, grinning. "Last thing in the world I wanna do."

"Drop the fucking knife," she snapped. He let it slip from his hand. "Now turn around," she said.

"Baby," he said, holding out a hand towards her. "I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

"_Fucking_ turn around," she snarled.

He rolled his eyes. "Anything you want, angel." He turned around. "You gonna frog-march me downstairs?"

"Just go."

"Catch you later, then."

The door had closed behind him before she lowered the pistol, hands shaking. She tried to calm down, tried to slow her breathing, and realised she was closer to tears than she'd really like to be.

Goddamn it. Maybe she really was alone.


	15. Hours In A Day

Zion spoilers here. Kind of.

* * *

"A Mister Swank at reception to see you, ma'am."

The Courier rolled her eyes, though no one could see her. "Send him up."

He stepped out of the elevator with his hat in his hand and a smile on his face.

"You here with a message from Benny?" she asked, her voice hard.

Swank spread his arms wide. "He's just messing with ya. You know what he's like."

"Yeah, I do," she snapped. "And so do you. Benny's a snake."

He shrugged a shoulder. "He gave me this to give to you. To say sorry." He held out a parcel, wrapped in brown paper.

She took it warily, and opened it. It was a revolver, covered in intricate etching and with an ivory handle with a playing card club symbol inset.

"That's nice," said Swank. "Elegant. Suits you."

She laughed disparagingly and opened the folded piece of paper that had come with it.

_To the luckiest gal I know._

She felt her lip curl. "Fucker," she said, out loud through gritted teeth.

Swank looked down at his feet. "That's not the only reason I came to see you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then what?" she asked, tersely.

He sighed. "Cass shoulda been back by now. It's been more than a month."

The Courier checked her pip-boy in disbelief. He was right. She felt a slow feeling of dread start to creep over her. "Wh- when did - when was she meant to be back?"

"I don't know," he said. "Not exactly. She told me she'd be back before the end of last month, though."

She pressed a hand to her lips. "Fuck," she said, her voice muffled. "You think she's in trouble?"

"I told you, I don't know," he said, voice tense. "I just know that she's meant to be back, and she's not back yet."

The Courier took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, mind hurriedly trying to come up with a plan. "Fuck. Okay. We have to find her. You-" she pointed. "Find a tracker. A good one. So we can tell where they've gone, if they've left the road somewhere, or if they've gotten lost somewhere... We're going to need some mercs or something. Maybe caravan guards? They might know if they've done something... caravan-y?"

Swank was staring at her. "What would 'something caravan-y' even be?"

"Maybe they fucking have rules, I don't know," she snarled. "What to do in a crisis, a motherfucking code of conduct or something? Just get me some fucking people, and get them today. This is important."

It wasn't until he'd left that she began to wonder why Swank had been the one to tell her at all.

She passed the rest of the afternoon irritable and anxious, running through automated functions for the city mainframe with Emily.

"Okay," Emily said, slowly, after the sixth time the Courier had snapped at her. "Why don't we wrap this up right now?"

The Courier rubbed at the bridge of her nose wearily. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. Sorry. It's, uh-" she groped blindly for an explanation. "There's some stuff on my mind," she finished, lamely. "Sorry for - for making your job harder."

Emily smiled at her tightly. "That's fine," she said. "To sum up, we're almost at the point where we can run the main functions without a central AI system. But we're going to need people to do it instead. It's not going to be overly technical, but it's going to take time, and people, and money."

"We got all three," said the Courier. "But wait, does this mean that people are going to be working, in my room, all the time?"

Emily shrugged. "The core machinery's down in the basement, far as I could tell. It shouldn't take much to convert part of that into office space."

The Courier smiled weakly. "Best news I've heard all day."

The intercom crackled. "It's me," said Swank, his voice tinny through the speaker. "I got what you asked for. Come down."

Swank was standing with two people, a ghoul and a huge hulk of a man with hair down to his shoulders and carrying a minigun.

"This here's Johnny Sampson," he said, indicating the minigun carrier. "And I believe you know the other."

"Hey, boss," said the ghoul. "Glad to see you moved up in the world."

The Courier stopped dead. "Holy shit."

Raul gave her a rueful smile. "Figured you'd be a little sore at me for leaving so soon."

"A little, maybe. At first. But after a while I realised I hadn't really given you a reason to stick around, so..." She shrugged. "I didn't know you were a tracker."

"Couple centuries, you learn a little bit about a lot of things."

"Are you sure you can find her?"

He folded his arms. "If you don't need my help, I'll go."

"No, no, don't," she said hurriedly. "I didn't meant to - I just want to find her. Find what's happened to her and bring her back. She's important."

He nodded. "So, you coming with us, boss? Or are you going to leave this one for me to sort out?"

She looked sideways at him. His words had sounded like a challenge, but he was just standing there, arms folded, not even looking at her.

She blinked. "It's Cass," she said. "I have to."

She thought Swank was going to protest, and was surprised when he just nodded. "Okay," he said. "Be careful."

She nodded. "Tell Benny to sort things out with Emily. And tell him not to fuck things up like last time."

As they moved through the mountains, further away from New Vegas and the surrounding settlements, the landscape changed dramatically around them. The mountains were beautiful in their wildness, tangles of flowering plants nearly everywhere, clusters of rock pillars bursting from the ground, the clear river low in the valley that followed them on their path.

On the road, Sampson didn't talk much. The Courier had tried to draw him out a little, but all she really managed to get out of him was that he grew up on a farm and could probably punch a deathclaw to death. Staying out of his line of fire was something she learned when the group ran across their first yao guai.

She'd been doubtful about Raul's abilities at first, but he noticed things she didn't, things she was so used to seeing that they'd become part of the scenery. An empty whiskey bottle rolled halfway down a slope, glinting in the afternoon sunlight. A smudgy charcoal circle where a campfire had burnt out and then been covered in dirt, a handful of cigarette butts crushed into the ground in the shadow of an overhanging rock.

One night, after half a bottle of scotch, she couldn't hold her curiousity back any more.

"Why'd you leave?" asked the Courier, pink-cheeked. "Did you just think I'd get everyone dead or what?"

"I did think you'd get everyone dead," he agreed. "But that's not why I left." He took another swig from his bottle of beer.

"So?"

He sighed. "I didn't know what you were fighting for, boss. You seemed like a - like a kid picking a team for a baseball match. Like you didn't get what you were doing, what was going to happen because of you. Like a - a little child pretending to be a general. You took some crazy risks."

She chewed on a nail. "That's not what it was like," she said.

Raul shrugged. "I wouldn't know, boss. Didn't come to many planning sessions, you know?"

"I did the best I could with the hand I was dealt," she said irately. "And it was a pretty shitty hand."

"I'm not saying you didn't."

"I needed to act fast. There was a shitload to be done and no fucking time. I had to do what was best for New Vegas. Even if that meant some big fucking changes."

He waved a hand. "Revolutions are for the young, the hot-blooded. Maybe it was best you were in charge."

"Everything you say is kind of an insult," she said. "Is that intentional, or what?"

He laughed. "Just the way an old man talks," he said. "You don't need to pay no attention to it."

She looked away from the fire into the darkness that surrounded them. There was a scuffling in some nearby bushes, and then silence. Probably some coyote.

"I don't think I did right by you," she said quietly. "Never really figured out what was important to you. Never really knew what you were thinking."

"Eh," he said. "It's hard to read a person when they don't got no face."

She almost choked laughing. "You're okay, Raul."

"I live only for your approval, boss."

She lay back against the earth and looked up at the sky. "I've never seen so many fucking stars in my life," she said.

Raul stayed silent as the campfire burnt on.

As they travelled, they seemed to cover ground quickly, although this had involved quite a few drops that the Courier wasn't sure they'd be able to climb up again. It was after one of these drops that Raul dropped back to walk alongside her.

"Someone's been watching us for two days now," he said, barely moving his lips, looking out over the river. "Though I guess if they wanted us dead they'd have made a move already."

She kept walking a few paces before responding. "Where?"

He shook his head. "Mostly this side of the canyon. High up. I don't think there's many of them."

"What do we do?"

"Keep going, I guess. We're exposed here, if we force a confrontation we won't come out better off."

They kept walking, but now that the Courier knew they were being watched, she imagined she could feel their eyes on her.

Raul stopped the group at a clearing high on the cliffs, and crouched to touch the earth gently with his fingertips. "There's been a fight here. Shell casings, ground disturbed. No bodies, but we know there's yao guai in the area, so they could have been taken."

The Courier felt sick. "You think Cass was here?"

Raul made a circuit of the clearing before answering. "Yeah, boss. I do."

They crossed a rickety bridge over a huge waterfall, and had to walk in single file around a rock face on the other side. The noise of the waterfall was almost deafening. The Courier was first in line. She navigated around a particularly narrow ledge, and almost walked straight into a crouching woman, who was covered in swirling tattoos and wearing what looked like scraps of leather armour bound together, decorated with fur and feathers and shiny stones.

She leaped back, reaching for her revolver, but the figure was still crouching, wide-eyed, clutching a huge club. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. When the tribal didn't move, she reholstered her weapon.

"Hello," she said, slowly.

"Tag?" the woman replied, her tone wary.

"Uh... I'm, uh, looking for someone."

The way the woman was studying the Courier's face made her feel a little uncomfortable. She was aware of Raul stepping around the rock behind her.

"Zee zooken owslander?" she said, at last.

"What?"

"Yeah," said Raul. "Owslander. Cass."

"Cass." The woman drew out the sound with a smile. "Ya." She motioned for the three to follow her.

She led them into a complex tunnel network, seemingly lit only by the bunches of mushrooms that grew in damp spots.

Raul touched the Courier's arm, and she fell back to walk alongside him.

"These aren't the people who've been following us, boss," he said. "Just thought you might like to know."

The cave system seemed to go on forever. At last the tribal led them through an impossibly tight gap in the rock - Sampson struggled to fit through - and into a larger passageway. Tribals lined the sides, crouching, armed with spears and clubs. They looked scared, dirty, thin. The woman who had led them said something that the Courier didn't understand, and the group relaxed a little.

They went on, through a large room carpeted in furs, and then into a smaller network of rooms.

The tribal shepherded them to one with a proud smile. "Cass," she said.

The Courier stepped into the room cautiously.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_," said Cass, standing up. "It took you fucking long enough."

* * *

Raul is here courtesy to a couple of my lovely readers who suggested that I give him another shot. Fair enough.


	16. Cause Even If There

There is a voice in my head that tells me each chapter I write is a little worse than the one before it. It's a slippery slope.

Also, my aim with writing this was to really avoid the quest retellings. I super didn't enjoy it during dead money, so I've tried to take a different route this time. It'll probably become more clear next chapter, actually.

* * *

Cass had been clutching a brush gun in her hands, and put it down to hug the Courier. The Courier patted her on the back gently.

Raul and Sampson filed into the room. Sampson seemed to take up most of it. The room was lit by a single guttering torch which danced and flickered over the cave's rough walls as they came in.

"Raul?" Cass crowed, delighted. "Holy shit, it's like a fucking family reunion. And who's this slab of muscle?"

"This is Johnny," said the Courier. "He shreds things."

"He's built like a fridge," said Cass, giving him the once-over. "Look at those shoulders."

"Very observant," said the Courier. "Now what the fuck happened?"

Cass pulled back, and sighed heavily. "Caravan was fucking ambushed up on the ridge. There were... so many of them. We killed a few, but it wasn't until some other tribe started shooting at the tribe that was attacking us that they pulled back. I hid behind a rock - real brave, huh?" Cass grinned savagely. "Until things had been quiet for an hour or two. Then I ran into some kid and he brought me here."

"How long ago was that?" The Courier rifled through her bag, and handed Cass a bottle of whiskey with a triumphant grin.

"You're amazing," Cass said, gratefully. "I've been getting the shakes. And, uh, maybe two weeks. Being stuck down here in the fucking damp makes it seem like forever, though. There's a couple of caves you can build fires in, but the majority don't have anywhere for the smoke to get out. Ugh. I just want to wash my hair."

"So why are you stuck? What's going on here?"

"We're trapped down here because there's people fighting over this valley. I don't even know what's happening. There's a bunch of tribes and some raiders, I think. The settlement I was trying to find got fucking destroyed. There's only a handful left, and I'm not even sure if they're okay." She shook her head. "This has been going on for far longer than anyone had thought."

"Do you actually understand what they're saying?" asked the Courier. "How do you know all this?"

Cass frowned. "You should probably talk to Joshua, if he's feeling up to it."

"Why? Who's that?"

"Funny story," said Cass, slowly. "Did anyone, uh, ever tell you about Caesar's last legate? The guy before the mask-guy we killed?"

"Yeah," she said. "Some guy up at Golf. Shortly before he blew his brains out." She ran a hand over her face at the memory. "Why?"

Cass was silent, watching her apprehensively. Waiting.

"Oh, you're fucking shitting me," the Courier said. "Joshua _Graham_? What the fuck? You would not believe the shit I heard about that guy. Crucifixes from Nevada to Arizona."

"So he survived being thrown off a cliff, on fire, and decided to - what? Come live in a cave?" asked Raul.

"He's... different now." Cass sighed. "And he's not in good shape, either. I'll take you to see him, if he's awake. Better just one at a time, though."

She led the Courier through a network of dark tunnels, still lit by clusters of luminous mushrooms into a smoky cave. The sense of the weight of the stone above pressing down on them put the Courier on edge. She was aware of tribe members, faces whorled with tattoos, watching them as they walked past. Their eyes were hungry, and they clutched their weapons tightly. In a strange way, the atmosphere reminded her of the bunker in Hidden Valley. Desperation. Caution. The need to band together. Pallid from lack of sunlight.

Joshua Graham was lying on an animal skin, spread out near the fire. He was wrapped in furs, motionless. A woman was sitting next to him, carefully winding a long bandage around his fingers. The smoke smelt sickeningly sweet, and made the Courier feel a little light-headed.

"Is he actually alive?" she hissed at Cass, but the sound seemed to awaken him. He looked up. His eyes were fever-bright in his bandaged face.

"I heard you were here," he said, his voice a rattle in the back of his throat. "Sic semper tyrannis. Isn't that right?"

She exchanged glances with Cass. "I guess so?"

"Come closer," he commanded. She felt her feet start to move before she'd even thought about it.

She crouched by the fire close to him. His body was tightly bound with bandages, but his blue eyes were bright and piercing. "Are you sick?" she asked.

"Our enemies... poison their weapons," he said, in between breaths. "There remain... fragments... of poisoned wood under my skin."

"He shouldn't be alive," said Cass. "He's just too damn stubborn to die."

Joshua wheezed a laugh. "Your friend has faith," he said to the Courier. "Although it could be better directed."

"You've killed a lot of people," she said.

He became still. "I have."

She was silent.

"I have asked Jesus Christ for my sins to be forgiven. I can make no further redress."

The Courier's eyes narrowed. "So that's it? 'Sorry, but it's in the past'?"

He closed his eyes. "If you're asking if I regret what I helped to create, then yes. It... got out of hand... very quickly."

She snorted. "If that's your idea of 'getting out of hand' is, I'd hate to see what you'd call a gigantic murderous clusterfuck of a rape machine."

The woman binding his hand stood up. "You _do not_ speak to him like this." Her voice shook in fury. "You know not who he is."

"Bull-fucking-_shit_ I don't know who he is. Do _you_ fucking know who he is?"

The woman took a step towards her menacingly, and the Courier stood to be able to face her.

"Okay," Cass said brightly, stepping forward. "How about we get you out of here and calm you down a li-"

"Are you friends with this guy or something?" The Courier rounded on her. "You know what he's done, he-"

"Yes," Cass said. "I know what he's done. But he's helping these people now and they need him."

The Courier stared disbelievingly at her in the flickering light of the fire. "You're defending him? Let him die! You'd be doing the world a favour."

Cass stared at her for a moment, searchingly, then shook her head. "He's the only hope this tribe has," she said quietly. They'll die. And so will we."

The Courier looked from Cass - a hand on her hip, eyes impatient - to the others. The tribal woman stood, fists clenched and barely restrained. Graham's eyes followed her as she moved.

"This is fucking bullshit," she said, and strode out of the room.

She couldn't remember the way they'd come, so she stood just outside the natural arch that made up a doorframe.

Cass nearly walked into her. "You don't like doing things the easy way, do you?"

The Courier sighed. "Can't we just get out of here?"

Cass fixed her with a long stare. "We can't leave. I don't mean morally, I mean we'll die if we try to go outside. Most of the entrances are being watched, and I have no idea how you made it down here without getting killed."

"Watched?" She ran an hand through her hair impatiently. "By who?"

"That was what you were meant to talk to Joshua about. But you got some idea about telling him off for being a 'bad guy'."

"He is a bad guy."

Cass rolled her eyes. "And here's me thinking you were into giving people second chances. Or is that just if you want to fuck them?"

The Courier had opened her mouth for a retort but Cass' statement had pretty much deflated her argument. She pressed her lips together.

"He's a missionary, now," said Cass. "Bringing light to the heathens." She let out a long breath. "I can't bring you back in right now, the disciple was about to strangle you. I'll find you somewhere you can rest for a while."

The Courier clenched her fists and followed her.

Cass led her back the way she had came. They picked Sampson and Raul back up at the honeycomb of caves that served as quarters, and after checking a few more of the rough stone rooms, Cass indicated which ones they could take.

"I'm going to go run damage control," she said. "If you're hungry, eat the mushrooms. They're pretty much all we have." And then she was gone.

Raul turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

She folded her arms. "Could probably have gone better," she said, after a long silence.

Raul smiled. "Want me to take a look at your stuff?"

She rubbed her eyes wearily. "That would be pretty awesome."

The pistol that Benny had given her - Lucky - was in almost perfect condition, but Ratslayer had seen better days. City life didn't have much scope for long-range distance-shooting - although she had been tempted on more than one occasion to knock out one of the windows in the penthouse suite and practice from there. The thought of what House would have said if he had still been alive was the only thing that stopped her. She still owed him a little respect, at least.

"You need to take better care of this." Raul turned her rifle over in his hands. "Do you even do anything to this other than put bullets in it?"

"Not really," she admitted unhappily. "It's done me a lot of service though. Deserves better."

He began dissembling it as she watched. "So I been wondering this for a while, boss. What's with you and Benny?"

"Been wondering about that a lot, lately. I don't know. He's fun, but..." she looked down at the cave floor, at the gentle glow of the mushrooms in the corner. She picked at one gently.

"You trust him?"

"More or less. Usually." She gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Raul looked down at her rifle, and then back to her face. "I'm gonna tell you a story."

"If you want."

"It's an old story. It won't take long." He resettled himself on the floor. "Okay. There's a scorpion, right, and he wants to cross a river."

"A radscorpion?"

Raul fixed her with a long stare. "If you like," he said, finally. "A _radscorpion_ wants to cross a river, right, but he can't swim. So he sees a frog, and-"

"What's a frog?"

He sighed. "It's a – a little thing. They don't exist any more. They're… a little like a gecko. They live on the land, but they can swim."

"Like a mirelurk?"

"You're making this story a lot longer than it needs to be, boss," he said. "But if that's the way you want it…" He shrugged. "A radscorpion wants to cross a river, but can't. He sees a mirelurk, and he says "hey, I want to cross this river. Will you carry me?" And the mirelurk says "no way, you'll sting me with your tail and I'll die." The radscorpion promises not to, because, hey, if he stings the mirelurk, they'll both sink, and the sco –_ rad_scorpion can't swim, so he'll drown. This makes sense to the mirelurk, so the radscorpion gets on the mirelurk's back and they start swimming across. Halfway across, the radscorpion stings the mirelurk. "What the hell did you do that for?" asks the mirelurk. "Now we're both going to die." And the radscorpion says "Sorry, it's just in my nature"."

The Courier blinked at him. "And they both died?"

"Well done, boss."

"Just because the radscorpion wanted to get his sting on?"

"A masterful summary."

She frowned. "Am I the mirelurk?"

"Your perception is truly impressive."

"Stop that," she said, irritable. "Are you saying that Benny's going to screw me over _just because_?"

"I'm not saying anything. Just telling you a story. If you didn't like it, forget about it." He shrugged again, a little defensively, and turned back to the rifle.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I mean, thanks. I've been short on people who'll actually give me good advice. Usually they try to guess what I'll want to hear and go from there."

He looked back up. "It wasn't advice, boss" he said, gently. "Just - watch out for yourself."

She forced a smile onto her face, looked up, and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Raul. Really."

* * *

and now I need to study for a job interview! why would I claim to be an expert on bilateral defence arrangements with australia omg what is wrong with me :(


	17. Were Forty More

Okay I'm having WAY more fun writing Raul than I really thought I would. Thanks to those who suggested he come back. Also thanks heaps! to Lea who I couldn't reply to directly.

* * *

The Courier didn't really have many rules for survival. Never raise your head to see if the sniper is still there. Don't swing a punch if you know you can't win the fight. There is no such thing as a warning shot.

She'd never thought that "don't eat something that is actually glowing" would be the first of them that she was willing to break.

The mushrooms had bulbous heads and slender stalks, and swayed gently as the air moved around them. The red ones, at least, glowed dimmer than the white ones, and she crouched low to the cold stone floor, picked one, and took a bite out of it, still not entirely convinced that she wasn't making a terrible mistake.

It tasted mostly bland and a little earthy, but the frilled belly of the mushroom made her squeamish. She swallowed hurriedly.

"That good, huh?" Raul raised an eyebrow at her, sitting against the opposite wall of the room in the dimness.

"It's kind of weird and gross," she said. A flicker on her pip-boy caught her attention, and she raised her wrist to see what it was. "I think it did something to my rads, though." She scrolled through the menu options. "Hell, way the fucking thing was glowing probably blew them through the roof."

But her pip-boy screen showed normal radiation readings. She looked back to the rest of the mushroom, dangling from the stem she held in her hand. How much did she want to find out what it had done?

"Do it for science, boss." Raul gave her a sly smile.

She glared at him, then took another bite. The dry flesh of the mushroom _squeaked _against her teeth and she barely managed to swallow it without gagging.

"Oh, that's filthy," she said, dropping the rest of the mushroom and watching her pip-boy avidly.

_[- 3 rads]_

She stared. "Seriously?"

"You could try another one to make sure," Raul suggested innocently.

"Fuck you, buddy," she said, although she was grinning. "Why don't you have one and we'll see what it does to you?"

"How would we know?" He shrugged. "Got no pip-boy monitor. Besides, what's cutting my rads going to do for me at my age?"

"Should decrease your chances of going feral, shouldn't it? Isn't that how it works?"

He shrugged loosely. "Haven't gone feral yet, not intending to," he said. "I'm too old to be running around naked and hissing at people. Gotta keep some dignity, you know?"

She laughed. "If you wanted to try it out, middle of nowhere like this is probably the best place for it."

"If you think I'm going to risk running into a yao guai naked you need your head examined."

She grinned. "Oh, hey, I was meaning to ask you earlier," she said. "How did you know what the scout we ran into was saying? Do you speak this weird tribal thing?"

He waved a hand. "It's a - a little piece of an old language. Don't get many people speaking it these days. Or even round these parts back in the old days. I don't know. You live long enough, you pick some things up. What was it she said? "Auslander," wasn't it? That one's easy, it just means 'foreigner', really. It even sounds like it. 'Aus' is 'out', and - well, you can pretty much figure the rest out yourself. Not really anything special."

"Yeah?" The Courier curled her legs under her and leaned back against the rock. "So how many other things have you just "picked up"? 'Cause it seems like a lot of these things are pretty handy."

"Well," he said. "I make a decent mushroom soup, boss."

"Real funny," she said. "I should set you up with a gig at the Tops."

"Nah. They have that other ghoul comedian who insults people," he said dismissively, poking at the mushrooms. "Too much crossover between acts."

"If you want me to fire Hadrian, I can pull a few strings."

Before Raul could reply, they heard footsteps coming towards them. They looked up at the doorway.

"Hey," said Cass. "You got a minute?"

The Courier stood. "Why the hell not?"

"Okay," said Cass, as they began to walk through the tunnels. "I guess I shouldn't have just dropped you in at the deep end."

The Courier followed her silently.

"I'm gonna introduce you to someone," Cass continued. "And then I'll explain what the situation really is."

She ducked into a room. A young man was tapping at the rock gently with a piece of sharpened rock. As they entered, he gathered up the white flakes of the deposit that had fallen, and turned to them.

"This is Follows-Chalk," Cass said. "He's a scout."

The Courier held out her hand, to shake but he just looked at it bemusedly. She let her hand fall back to her side.

"Hello," he said. "You are a - a warrior-queen, yes?"

She grinned, delighted. "I'm more of an, uh, unelected administrative official. But I like your version better." She turned to Cass. "Did you tell him to flatter me shamelessly?"

Cass held up her hands. "Didn't say a thing. Just figured you should meet at least one person who belongs to this tribe before you make your decision. His English is good, so here we are."

They settled themselves on the floor.

"Okay," began Cass. "Situation here is this: back before the battle at the Hoover Dam, Caesar asked one of the more aggressive tribes round these parts to destroy New Canaan. This has been going on for _months_. Seems that no one who came to look for people ever made it back. The New Canaanites fled, where they could. A lot were killed then, and a lot have probably been killed since. We think most of them are with another tribe a ways north of here, but there's been a lot of enemy fire and the scouts can't get through."

"Wait," said the Courier. "How many tribes are there? And which one is this? Can you draw me a picture?"

Cass snickered. "Alright." She took a piece of chalk from the pile on front of Follows-Chalk, dusted off a patch of stone, and began to draw. "Okay, we're the Dead Horses." She drew a picture of a horse's head with a cross for its eye. "And the other tribe, which is friendly, is the Sorrows." She drew a sad face to the north of the horse. "The enemy tribe is the White Legs, and their base is over here somewhere." She drew a pair of legs to the west and filled them in.

'That looks like stockings," said the Courier.

Cass glared. "Too fucking bad. Anyway, the White Legs apparently don't have the numbers to hold this valley and come down in the caves to destroy either one of the tribes. But they're getting bolder all the time, and their weapons are a lot better than ours."

The Courier frowned. "Did you say before that _Caesar_ was making them do this?"

Cass shrugged. "That's what Joshua said. I don't know if they know he's dead or not, they're not much into casual conversation. They might not even care that much if they do know. This valley is valuable, strategically and resource-wise."

"Alright," said the Courier. "So... what? Do you have a plan?"

"We need to get Joshua better," she said. "We need him. The tribes trust him. He's been good to them. I don't know how long he has left, but he's not well. We need to get the poisoned splinters out of his body, and then get him the antidote."

"I have some antivenom in my bag," said the Courier. "Solved."

"Not gonna work." Cass shook her head. "I mean hold onto them, because holy shit have you seen the size of the cazadors you get around here? But it's a different kind of poison, you need a really specific antidote. Follows-Chalk has a recipe. Some of the ingredients are easy to get, some... not so much."

The Courier sighed. "Okay. Fine. If that's the only way out of here, fine. But I'm not going to trust Joshua fucking Graham. At all. Ever."

"Whatever," said Cass. "Then let's go."

"Now?"

"Dark. It's safer."

"Okay." The Courier stood up. "I'll get the others."

"Three is plenty." Follows-Chalk spoke up. "Bigger groups are easier to see."

She sighed again. "Your call," she said, and followed him as he led the group to the exit.

The brilliance of the stars overhead once again astounded her. There was no moon, but the starlight was enough to see where they were walking.

"Is it-" she began, but was cut off by a curt "shh" from the scout. She fell silent.

The cave had opened into the flat bottom of a valley. The Courier heard the rush and burble of the river before she caught the glint of starlight on the water. There was a bank to one side of the river where simple wooden shelters lay broken and piled into a heap.

Follows-Chalk led them at a crawl around the edges of the bank, right up to the edge of the river and then straight into it.

The Courier stepped into the river. The cold water took its time soaking through her armour, but once through seemed to soak right through to the bone. They stayed close to the canyon walls as they picked their way through the water dragging at their legs.

Follows-Chalk held up a hand, and then pointed towards the riverbank. They followed him towards it, and stood shivering on the sand. He pointed at a pattern of white handprints that covered the entrance to a cave.

Cass nodded, and they went inside.

"Can we talk yet?" hissed the Courier.

The scout moved a few paces further into the cave. "Now," he said.

"What's with the creepy hands?" she asked.

"The handprints mean that this cave is is, uh, taboo," said Cass. "Dangerous. Has a bunch of old world stuff. There could be something really useful in here."

"Dangerous, huh?" said the Courier. "Let's see what particular brand of dangerous this really is."

She switched on her pip-boy light and crouched. She moved forward slowly, trying to remember how Boone had swept the floor for traps. No glowing orange lights. No rusty metal rings. No strange bit of metal sticking out of the - _one _strange bit of metal sticking out of the ground. It was what looked like a hastily-disguised tripwire. She held up a hand for the other two to stop and stepped over it gingerly. Set on a table In the cavern ahead, two shotguns were set to fire towards the entrance tunnel if the wires were tripped. She disengaged them carefully, with a twinge of pride.

"I can see why they'd think that was ghosts or something," she said. "No one's here but people keep getting hurt."

"So what's this going to be protecting?" asked Cass. "If no one's come this way for so long, it could be something good."

They worked their way slowly through the cave system, carefully skirting mines and avoiding tripwires.

The teddy bear sitting at the entrance to a large cavern stopped her in her tracks. Seemed like someone had a sense of humour. The Courier crawled up to it from the side, and sure enough, it was sitting on a mine. She disarmed it deftly, and led the three into the cavern.

"Oh, this is great," said Cass. "Someone was living here for a while. Heaps of stuff." She began sorting through the bags near the table and began making a pile. Tweezers, forceps, surgical tubing, scalpel.

Follows-Chalk made a beeline for a set of crates sitting in the back of the room.

The Courier left them both to it and logged on to the computer terminal on a table. How the hell was it even still going? There were two files on the computer, and she selected the first one. She bit her lip.

"What are you reading?" Cass looked up from the bag she was sorting through.

"Um-" The Courier's voice came out shaky. She cleared her throat. "Journal of a guy - his wife and kid died, and now he wants to kill himself?"

Cass froze. "Stop reading it," she said. "Just stop. Right now."

The Courier turned to her, wide-eyed and panicky. "He writes the same," she said, breathing unsteadily. "He- he writes-"

"It's not the same," Cass said urgently. "Listen. It's not the same situation. Different people, different time, different place."

"He writes like Boone talks," the Courier said quietly. She turned back to the terminal. "Christ, I can't stop reading it in his voice."

She felt hands grasp her by the shoulders and pull her bodily away from the screen.

"I think this is the part where I either slap you, or force you to drink something. Now I'm gonna let you choose which one, _even though_ I only have one bottle of whiskey."

"I gave you that whiskey," the Courier complained.

"It's a complex situation."

She laughed shakily. "Drink sounds good. Plus this guy here sounded like he'd rather not spend too much time sober. Could be some more stuff in this cave."

There was a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka tucked inside one of the bags, which they broke open gladly.

"I'm okay," said the Courier as she lowered the bottle from her lips. "It just, uh... hit me a little hard. You just don't expect..." She let the sentence trail off.

"You feeling guilty about him?" Cass took another swig. "Guilt's no good for you. Doesn't help anything, neither."

"Don't try and therapize me." The Courier screwed the lid back onto the bottle. "I'm not in the mood."

Cass shrugged. "If you like. Hey, you know who's interesting? Manny. He, uh, had something to say to you last time you passed through Novac, isn't that right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh boy. Yeah he did. Christ, I just don't know what his fucking problem is. He's an asshole. Okay, like, _one_," - she held up a finger - "he's glad when his best friend tells him his wife is gone, _two_, he won't tell me where Benny had gone until I blasted a bunch of fucking ghouls into space, and _three_, he's a huge fucking dick to me for no reason when I go through Novac. Fuck."

Cass stretched her legs out over the rough ground. "I got a theory," she said. "Wanna hear it?"

"Okay."

"Manny has a thing for Boone."

The Courier shook her head in disbelief. "You're so fucking filthy."

"No no no," Cass said. "Listen. I've been around the block a few times, and you know, you start to get a feeling about some guys. I mean, some guys are interested in you, some aren't - which is fine - and then with some you don't even register."

"And you had a 'feeling' about Manny."

"It all fits, though, doesn't it? Bear with me here. Manny has a thing for Boone, which is why he's kind of happy about his wife disappearing."

"That's so dumb. That's a terrible theory. Manny and Carla just didn't get on."

"And why do you think that was?" Cass raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "Anyway. So, wife disappears, Boone gets real quiet for a few weeks. Then he leaves town with the first girl that comes along, and he never comes back. I mean, fuck, I'd be pissed."

"That's not how it happened."

"But that's how it would have looked to anyone in that no-horse town." Cass raised the bottle as if in a toast and took a gulp.

"So what about the thing with the ghouls and Benny and the Khans?"

"Oh, fuck it, I don't know," Cass said irritably. "Maybe he really is just an asshole."

"See?" said the Courier. "The simplest solution is often the best."

Follows-Chalk approached them from the back of the room. "It's getting late," he said. "Almost sunrise. We need to get back before they can see us."

The group picked up whatever they had managed to salvage, and began walking back to the door. The Courier hung back just long enough to transfer the journal entries from the computer into her pip-boy. She had to find out what had happened to the man who wrote them.


	18. I Wouldn't Sleep

The Courier scowled at the walls as the mountain swallowed them once again.

Cass led them back to the main chamber, where Joshua Graham lay, and turned to the Courier with a wary look on her face. "We need you to do this operation."

The Courier stared. "I'm sorry, what?"

"There's no one else," Cass said quietly.

"Well what about _you_?" she sputtered.

"I'm not a doctor-" Cass began.

"_I'm_ not a doctor."

"You're the closest thing we've got. Well, there's Daniel, who's an actual doctor, but - well, we hope - he's with the Sorrows at their camp. We can make short trips outside on dark nights, but there's no way we can get across to there and bring him back. You have the most medical experience out of anyone here. You're the only one that can do it."

"I don't _want_ to do it," she said, ignoring the angry noises from the Dead Horses around them. The Courier looked around at the faces, angry and uncertain and scared, at Follows-Chalk, watching from the background uncertainly, and finally Cass, hands on hips and a weary lean to her shoulders.

"Fuck it," she said. "Okay, let's do it."

She spread out the range of surgical tools that Cass had claimed on a fairly clean piece of cloth.

"So how do we sterilise these? Boil them? Alcohol? Boiling alcohol?"

"Boil them in alcohol," Cass said thoughtfully. "And then burn the alcohol off in the fire."

The Courier shrugged. "Sounds solid."

While the tools were cooling, she settled down on the ground next to Joshua Graham.

She took a syringe of med-x out of her bag, ignoring the sudden sharp look Cass threw her. She tapped at it with her fingernail, and squeezed the air out with the plunger.

"Don't bother," said Graham, indistinctly. "Chems aren't... particularly effective."

"Seriously?" she asked. "You want to do this without pain relief?"

He didn't reply, just looked up at her with those icy blue eyes.

"Right," she said. She looked over at Cass. "Do I have like a book about this in my bag or something?"

Cass rolled her eyes.

The Courier lifted back the blanket that covered him.

The blow that had done this damage had hit him high in the shoulder. The pre-war bulletproof vest he wore had stopped what was probably the full force of the blow, and limited the spread and distribution of the poison.

Fresh bandages covered the wound, but blood and yellow fluid had soaked through them already. She tried not to react as she carefully cut through the bandages with the scalpel. His eyes didn't leave her face.

She pulled the bandages gently away from the wound, and couldn't stifle a hiss at the sight.

The skin that covered his body was heavily scarred, burnt smooth and hard and twisted. The wound itself wasn't as severe as she'd suspected. It was fairly shallow, but infection and the poison had taken hold. The wound was suppurating, inflamed and laced with pus. It smelled sickeningly sweet and rancid.

"I need, uh, something to soak up the blood and stuff," she said, sitting up slightly. "Tissues, or bandages, maybe. Something." Someone left a piece of cloth next to her tools.

She switched on her pip-boy light and picked up a pair of slender-tipped tweezers hesitantly. She touched his skin with the tip, then pulled back, selecting the forceps. She slid them into what seemed like the deepest part of the wound and squeezed to push the flesh apart. The skin around it, burnt into a hard shell, broke into a multitude of cracks and began to bleed as the surface was forced out of place.

The Courier gritted her teeth, willing herself to breathe, keep calm, and not throw up, in that order. The flames from the fire beat hot against her face.

"So what's malpais?" she asked, mostly to distract herself. "What does it mean?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "It's land," he rasped. "Where nothing grows."

She lowered the tweezers into his flesh, using them to gently move the infected tissue, trying to see where these things were, and finally saw one, a large, dark splinter. She grasped it carefully and lifted. It came out surprisingly easy - probably due to the infection that surrounded it, weakening the surrounding tissue.

Graham didn't make a sound while she worked. Not when his skin cracked and wept, not when she dug the tweezers into infected tissue, not when she had to use the scalpel to cut through partially-healed membranes. His breathing didn't even change.

"So do you have some super-human pain tolerance thing going on?" The Courier couldn't keep the acid out of her tone. "You just don't even notice?"

She didn't want to hurt him, exactly - the idea of hurting people just because she didn't like them and she wanted to was one that seemed like a great idea, right up until the point that she was actually faced with doing it. Like that centurion at McCarran. She'd walked in, cracking her knuckles and with a knife in her boot, but the soldier had been so lost and - well, scared, really - that a mild interest in his situation had been enough to make him talk. She remembered Boone staring at her through the glass in anger and disbelief. She'd had to turn away.

"I feel _everything_," he said, and the anger in his voice almost made her flinch.

She laid out each tiny shred of wood on the ground next to her as she worked, dabbing at the broken skin to clear away the weeping fluids.

She used the tweezers to move the tissue aside, making sure she'd got everything out.

"Do stimpaks work on you, or is that something else you're just going to have to tough out?" she asked.

"We have poultices," said one of the disciples. "To draw out the infection and protect the wound."

The Courier looked down at the open wound, slowly filling with blood. "Okay. Fine. Whatever you want."

She stood up, wiped her hands on her trousers and turned to leave. Cass followed her out of the chamber.

"You did the right thing," she said.

"Fuck off," said the Courier. "So are we done with him?"

"Maybe," said Cass cautiously. "If he can fight the poison on his own."

The Courier sighed. "The antidote. I remember. What do we need?"

"Most of the things we have already. We just need a seed pod from what these guys call 'a spitter plant'. I haven't seen one, I don't know what they're like."

"Okay," said the Courier. "I'll take that scout and Raul and head out to look for one, how about that?"

Cass paused. "Okay," she said, at last.

"Old woman like you needs her sleep," continued the Courier. "That's gonna be two late nights in a row, and-" She dodged out of the way, laughing, as Cass threw a lazy punch at her arm.

"Get outta here," said Cass, turning back towards the main chamber.

The Courier headed back to their quarters to pick up Raul.

Follows-Chalk led them out through an exit that opened out behind a waterfall. She gripped the rock at her sides as she stepped through, wary of the slick surface underfoot.

The sun was setting over the high cliffs to the east as they set out. It was earlier than they'd left the previous evening, but enough time in the Mojave had shown the Courier that dusk made it hard to see movement, particularly in the distance. She looked down at her rifle in her hands. The night vision scope was practically useless for the next hour or so unless she was looking directly at someone already. A spotter would come in pretty handy right now. She grimaced and kept walking.

They kept low to the ground and spread out over thirty feet or so, in order to not provide such a clustered target. They crossed the wide, shallow rivers one at a time, hardly able to see the person on the opposite riverbank in the dying light.

The white handprints were almost luminescent in the dimness against the cliffside. She paused where she was and waved her hand to get the attention of the others. She pointed towards the entrance to the cave, and crawled through the grass to meet up with them just outside it.

"We don't have much time-" began Follows-Chalk uneasily.

"I'll be quick," said the Courier. "In and out. Just to - just to check. I'll be like two minutes. Except for the 'checking for traps' time. So, maybe ten minutes." She didn't wait for an answer before ducking inside, and grinned when she saw the first mine.

She almost missed a couple of traps in her haste to get to the centre of the cave. With some difficulty, she disabled a generator that was electrifying a gate, and pushed it open gently. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the computer, and she forced herself to walk carefully over to it.

"So what have you dragged us in here for?" asked Raul.

_Year 2083_, the first entry read. The Courier checked her pip-boy. It'd been five years since the last entry she'd read. She smiled, and turned back to Raul.

"A guy was out here when the bombs fell," she said. "He's, um. I don't know. Trying to figure things out. Got a whole bunch of guilt because his family - well. Come read them with me."

Raul raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and walked over to crouch next to her.

Reading the entries was hard. His guilt was almost tangible, the amount of self-loathing in his writing painful to read. He'd made the hike back from here to his city, tried to find the remains of his family, but found only ruins.

"He keeps saying a brave man would have killed himself by now," said Raul. "But he's trying to survive, not giving up."

The Courier nodded, lips pressed together.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded again, and scrolled down on the terminal. She heard Raul laugh next to her, but didn't understand why until she'd caught up to where he was.

The author had adopted a small band of Mexicans. Well, sort of adopted. Was looking over. Like a guardian angel. She smiled.

"What's this?" asked Follows-Chalk, holding up a bag full of C4.

The Courier stood up. "Hold on to that," she said. "That could be useful."

"So we can go now?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Come on."

The night outside was dark, thick clouds hiding the stars. She led the group as they walked back through the water up the the bank.

They were too close together, she realised, turning back to look at the group, and was about to tell them to break up when a figure suddenly appeared from the dimness. Before she had a chance to react, it had lifted both hands over its head and then swung them down hard. She started to leap to the side but it was too late, and a heavy, sharp weight cracked down on her collarbone, knocking her off her feet. As if the attack had been a signal, gunfire split the silence of the valley.

She tried to reach for her pistol, but her hand wasn't working, somehow, and warm liquid running back over her shoulder and into her hair.

The figure lifted its arms up again, but a loud gunshot rang out behind her and the figure dropped. Raul crawled up, keeping low. He put another bullet in the attackers' head before turning his attention to the Courier.

"You okay, boss?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Think so," she said, struggling to get into a crouching position. "Go help the scout, we need him."

Raul reached over and ran his finger over her shoulder. "Collarbone's cracked," he said. "Make sure you set that properly before you stim it."

He vanished into the inky blackness as the Courier fumbled with her armour. She grimaced as bone scythed through her flesh as she pushed it into place, and followed it with a stimpak.

She backed off down the hill, out of the silhouette line, and raised her rifle to her eye. In the green glow she could see a small band of tribals clutching automatics. The one that had hit her seemed to have been the only one with a silent weapon. They crouched behind rocks and trees, almost blending into the darkness of the landscape as they fired. But not quite.

She swung the barrel of the rifle around to check on her team. Raul had his back pressed to a large rock, using the cover to reload, and Follows-Chalk was lying flat on the ground, firing a pistol.

She aimed carefully at one of the White Legs, who looked to be holding an anti-materiel rifle, and fired. Her shot hadn't been lethal, and the tribal cried out in pain.

Raul leaned out of cover and fired once. The cry stopped abruptly.

The White Legs seemed to have figured out where she was, and she had to drop flat to the ground as they sent a volley of gunfire in her direction.

She heard a pistol shot ring out, and lifted her scope just in time to see Raul circling around the last remaining White Leg. The tribal turned, frantic, unable to determine where his enemies were. Raul closed in, silently, and put a bullet into the back of the man's skull.

The silence in the aftermath of the gunfight almost hurt the Courier's ears, but it went on longer and longer until she was sure that nothing else was going to attack them.

"You can come out now, boss," said Raul, wearily.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, but climbed to her feet and brushed the dirt off her armour.

"Did you even get hit?" she asked.

"Nah," he said. "Got pretty good at dodging bullets over the last couple centuries."

She laughed quietly. "And you got the nerve to pull this 'useless old man' bullshit on me," she said. "Where to now?"

She couldn't see Follows-Chalk's expression in the darkness, but he sounded reluctant. "I know a place. It's - it's a bad place, though. There are ghosts."

"That's cool," said the Courier. "I have a weapon designed for exactly that." She touched the barrel of her Holorifle lovingly. "Let's go."

* * *

I re-wrote this like a billion times. I think it possibly still needs more work. I just don't know.


	19. A Minute Away

SURPRISE CHAPTER OUT OF NOWHERE

* * *

They followed the river as it headed north, staying close to the cliffs in the darkness.

"I don't think those were the people that've been following us either," said Raul, quietly.

The Courier felt her shoulders tense. "Really?" she asked. "Who are they, then?"

"I don't know. Thing is, the tribals attack on sight. These people are just watching. Curious, maybe."

"How do you even see them?" she asked. "Where are they?"

"High up. Look for people on the clifftops. Only one or two at a time. Sometimes you just feel them watching you."

She looked up at the cliffs that surrounded Zion valley. Nothing against the skyline. "Keep an eye out," she said uncomfortably, and kept walking.

The valley rose unsteadily, narrow and scattered with rocks. Follows-Chalk held up a hand for them to stop.

"There," he said. "The spitter plants."

The Courier lifted her rifle to see through the scope. There were four or five large plants, with buds, or leaves, or whatever they were, hanging bell-like as they swayed gently.

"You motherfuckers," she said. "Seen you before." She squeezed off a shot from the silenced rifle and watched as it broke the stem. The plant's mouth - because that was what it was, really - fell to the ground, gently opening and closing. She crept forwards, taking out four more plants before she was satisfied it was safe.

The plant crunched as the Courier forced the jaws of the closest plant apart. The pods inside were a dark, lush green, and she pocketed several of them. As she reached the next plant, she noticed a stack of crates. As she got closer, she saw more signs of inhabitants - campfire, tools, improvised seats. Skeletons. A lot of skeletons.

As she was crossing the campsite, a green humanoid creature unfolded itself from a patch of foliage and backhanded her, claws scraping across her skin. She shrieked as she fell, ripping the pistol from her side and unloaded all six bullets into the thing's head. She climbed to her feet carefully. There might be more of them around.

"Hell of a set of lungs on you, boss," said Raul, approaching from behind her. She turned to face him, still holding her pistol out in front of her. "We need to move fast now that you've- What's that?"

They looked at the body lying in front of them, sprawled bonelessly over the ground.

"Last time I saw one of these fucking things, it was in a vault." She stared at it, breathing heavily. "In one of the fucking toilet cubicles." She turned to Raul. "Like I always check every single damn cubicle _just in case _something is hiding in one, but I think that was the only time I ever found something. Is my face bleeding?"

He lifted a thumb to her face, trying to make the most of the scant light. "Calm down. Not much. This thing's from a vault?"

"I don't know," she said. "I mean, that was back in the Mojave, it's a long way away. And I've never seen things like this anywhere else." Her heartrate was beginning to return to normal. "Do you ever get double-ups in vault experiments?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Could be this is their camp, though."

She laughed. "Like all the green people decided to have a vault revolution and strike out on their own?"

"More like people came out here and somehow brought all this with them," he said.

"Oh. I - shit. Yes. I guess. That makes sense." She bent over the body, examining it. "I don't think they hear too well. Every time one of them attacked, it was because I got close. Vibrations, maybe. Air movements? I don't know, how the fuck are plants meant to notice things?"

Follows-Chalk appeared silently. "There are more White Legs coming," he said. "A lot more. We are close to the Sorrows camp, here. It is not safe."

The Courier winced. "Sorry," she said.

"This is maybe the least stealthy covert mission I've ever been on," said Raul. "Is there any way up out of this valley?"

Follows-Chalk didn't answer immediately, eyes flicking between the two of them. "A ghost lives just a little further up," he said. "But there the canyon ends."

"What sort of ghost?" asked Raul.

"The ghost of a child," he said. "But in the form of a yao guai."

"Right," the Courier said slowly. "Let's try to limit ourselves to fighting on one front." She looked up the valley. The cliffs that surrounded them were high and steep. She took the holorifle off her back. "I didn't always appreciate energy weapons," she said to the others. "But you _would not believe_the things I've killed with one shot from this."

She turned to Follows-Chalk. "That C4 you picked up is going to be really fucking useful. They're all going to have to come through quite a narrow section down the middle there, so lets get that down there right now, then we back off and can shoot from that overhang all the way up there." She surveyed the landscape in the dimness. "Well. Maybe we shouldn't shoot from there while we set the C4 off. That might take the whole thing down. But we can shoot from there_ before _we detonate."

"You sure about this, boss?" Raul asked dubiously.

"The C4?" she asked. "I'm not that great with explosives. But you make the explosion big enough, you're probably going to kill some people."

Raul didn't look convinced. "Okay," he said, finally.

"How many detonators do we have?" she asked Follows-Chalk. He offered her the bag. "Just one? Shit. Oh well. One big bang will do fine. Follow me."

She led them down to the valley entrance, placing the packages of C4 carefully among the rocks and ferns, lining both sides of the cliffs. She could see the dark silhouettes against the starlit landscape, and hurried to lay the rest of the explosives before retreating back to the top of the valley.

"I'd like to tell you both that this plan is courtesy of Chief Hanlon and Joshua Graham, both sons of bitches." She dug a bottle of scotch out of her bag. "Drink?"

Raul took the bottle. "Normally I'd suggest that our senses not be impaired," he said. "But with these odds this might be preferable to be drunk. Who knows?"

He took a gulp and passed it to Follows-Chalk, who took a cautious sip and spat it right back out.

The Courier took the bottle back. "It's okay," she said. "It's pretty filthy the first few times." She took another swig from the neck of the bottle before starting the climb up to the overhang.

She lay down at the edge of the rocky outcropping and settled into position, her rifle nestled against her shoulder. Follows-Chalk had been right, there were a lot of them. Twenty, maybe thirty. That was okay. Probably okay. If she got them all bunched up in C4 valley, maybe even pretty good.

She let the scope follow the head of a woman at the front of the group. The Courier watched as she stepped out of the water, and then squeezed the trigger gently, sending the bullet through her eye. She smiled as the woman dropped in silence. This, this was the best time to shoot, this moment of panic as the tribals froze and processed what had happened. She took out three more, and the group started moving, looking frantically for cover and trying to see where the bullets were coming from.

She got off another shot, taking a last White Leg out, before she was spotted.

She pushed herself back from the edge as they began to fire. She stood up, but as she turned something hit her hard in the shoulder, knocking her off her feet and into the dust. She craned her neck to see the shaft of a spear embedded in her back, and reached over with her other hand to wrench it out, hissing in pain.

She stood, but suddenly her vision blurred. The ground under her tilted alarmingly, and for a moment she thought the C4 had gone off early. She stumbled back away from the ledge, but couldn't keep walking in a straight line and fell to her knees. She tried to crawl, but lost sight of her hands somehow, the rock under her a spinning blur.

A slowly spiralling scarlet pattern began to spread out on the ground in front of her, looping and twisting. She lowered her head to the ground, just to make sure it was still there, and closed her eyes to stop the spinning.

_Get up. Get up, we have to move. What's wrong with you?_

Something was tugging at her arm, and then the whole world shifted and she was looking up at the whirling stars. A dark, blurred shape moved into her vision, blocking the stars out, and then she felt a sharp sting in her injured shoulder.

She tried to speak, but she couldn't hear her own voice, and wasn't sure she'd said anything at all.

_Great. Okay, boss, come on._

The words seemed to be coming from inside her own head. The ground suddenly dropped away from under her, and then she was walking, sort of, on unstable legs, half leaning, almost falling, stumbling down

_Almost there._

She felt herself being lowered to the ground.

_Now_.

The world exploded. The ground shook under her, blossoms of fire shooting up from the ground. There was a rumbling roar as the overhang crumbled into the valley.

The sound of the blast had deafened her. The flames had blinded her. She sat, leaning against the side of the cliff, staring helplessly into the darkness. She didn't notice the moving figure until it was right up close to her.

_Can you shoot?_

The holorifle was placed in her lap. She ran her hands over it, touching the ridges of metal, the wooden stock.

As long as there's only bad guys in front of me, she wanted to say. The figure hovered for a second, then vanished. She was lifted to her feet, an arm around her waist.

_Huh. We can work with that._

She was half supported, half propelled forwards, holding the holorifle in front of her. She was vaguely aware of someone else just behind her, to her left. Her vision was getting better - she could see figures against the canyon walls. She started shooting. Her aim wasn't great, but at this range it was hard to miss. The blue glow of the energy was almost hypnotic in the darkness, glimmering and sparkling.

The remaining White Legs had retreated behind the remains of the fallen rock face. The Courier, almost walking on her own now, took a step forward, but a loud, low growl made her stop dead. She could hear Follows-Chalk's startled gasp behind her.

"Run," he said. "Go! Run!"

The Courier stumbled, but managed to catch herself, and turned to look at the scout. He was staring up further into the valley. She followed his gaze.

A huge yao guai was standing a little higher on the paths, reared up on two feet. It seemed to be watching them.

"Go! Go now!" Follows-Chalk began to run. Raul followed, still supporting the Courier, although she was almost able to walk on her own. With his free hand, Raul laid down cover fire to protect their retreat from the few White Legs remaining. They moved as fast as they could through the thigh-high water, but it wasn't until they reached the opposite bank that they heard the White Legs still in the valley begin screaming.

Follows-Chalk was pale in the starlight. "We have everything," he said. "And we need to keep moving. Quickly. Let's go on, we can be back before sunrise."

They began to follow as he led the others back to the caves.

* * *

Come onnn 100 review barrier. Smash it!


	20. There's Blackjack

Thanks for your efforts in busting the 100 barrier, I love you all! Your reviews really mean a lot to me. Sometimes I wonder if I'll never be able to write original fiction, just because I wouldn't have the constant feedback and ++views to encourage me :(

ALSO I've figured out a name for her. I'm not sure whether to name her in the stories, however - I originally wanted her to be very fluid and interpretable, kind of an 'anybody', but I think naming her might end up being a good idea. I don't know! Opinions welcome.

* * *

By the time they got back to the caves, the poison had mostly worn off. Mostly. The sun, still hiding just under the horizon, was uncomfortably bright, and the Courier's muscles were twitching like she'd mixed psycho with buffout, but the sky wasn't spinning and the ground mostly stayed in one place.

Cass was waiting for them when they got inside, with a group of Dead Horse Disciples. Raul handed over the seed pods to one of them, and they almost ran in their hurry to get the cure to Graham.

"Are you okay?" Cass asked. "Your pupils are just fucking huge." She turned to Raul, who was still half-supporting her. "Head injury?"

"Feel like I'm on a boat," mumbled the Courier.

Raul shook his head. "Poison, I think. It's got a lot better."

Cass glanced over her shoulder. "I think I can get you some of the antidote," she said. "Seeing as you brought it back. Give me a few minutes."

The Courier slid down the rough rock wall, and tried to keep her eyes open while waiting for Cass to return. There was something wrong with her time perception, because it seemed to be hours before Cass returned with a small bottle. It smelled awful and tasted worse, but she choked it down and was surprised at how quickly her vision returned to normal.

Cass crouched next to her, concern on her face.

"I'm fine," she croaked.

"Well, good." Cass held up a finger for the Courier to watch and moved it in front of her face. "You need to take care of yourself, alright?" She cracked a smile. "Boone's gonna kill me if you don't make it back to the Mojave."

The Courier grinned back, but it quickly slid into a grimace. "Oh, god, he's going to be so mad at me when I finds out I just kind of ran off after you. Maybe if I bring him back a bunch of presents he'll go easy on me."

"You should bring him a gun! The .45s are pretty great. He likes guns, right?"

The Courier frowned. "Rifles."

"So it's a size thing?" Cass asked slyly. "You know what some people-"

"I'm _totally _not okay with discussing this."

"Why's that? Something to hide?"

"Oh my fucking god stop it. I just - I don't-" She sighed. He's... important. Too important to - talk about like this. He deserves better."

"You're no fun anymore," said Cass, but she was smiling. "Come on. Let's go see Joshua."

The Courier's lip curled, but she got up and began to follow.

"Can you _behave _this time?" Cass asked. "He's really not someone I would want to piss off. Just tone it down a little."

"We'll see how that goes," she said. The Courier watched the tense line of Cass' back as she walked in front of her.

"I'm not _on his side_, you know," said Cass. "It's just- he's changed. He's tried to do better."

"Seems to me like he might have a lot a lot of catching up to do," the Courier said, conversationally.

"I don't think he'd disagree with you on that."

"Really?" she asked. "How charitable of him."

Cass sighed. "He has to live with what he's done."

"So do a whole fuckload of people," she snapped. "Except they don't get the privilege of moping around in a cave waiting for someone else to fix their fucking problems for them. I'm starting to think Boone's idea about going on a Legion safari hunt is a good one."

Cass stopped, and turned back. "Is he the reason you're acting like this?"

"Well, obviously," said the Courier, her glare piercing. "Because I can't actually have opinions of my own without a big strong man telling me what they are first."

"I didn't mean it like-"

"The reason," the Courier interrupted, "is that in my official capacity I deal with a number of people, some of whom have a history with the Legion. Refugees, escaped slaves, people who were out when an attack went down, the odd defector - though not many of those - and you would not believe the stories they tell me. They treat their dogs better than they treat people, Cass, they treat their brahmin better. What they do to the women-" she broke off, voice unsteady. "What they do-"

"Okay," said Cass. "Okay. I get it." She turned and began walking again. "That's just not what we need to focus on right now."

"I _know_," said that Courier. "You think I'm just trying to get all bent out of shape on purpose? I just get angrier each time I think about it."

Cass groaned. "Okay. Okay." She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing much I can say to make you act any differently, just - please. Try not to get yourself shot."

The Courier snorted and kept following.

Graham was sitting up, eyes bright and focused, when she came in.

"Thank you," he said. "For healing me."

"My fucking pleasure," she said. "What do you want?" There was a telltale narrowing of his eyes before he answered. She tried to hide a vicious smile.

"We need to get to the Sorrows as quickly as possible," he said. "Your presence has forced their hand. They're vulnerable now, we're... less so."

He stood up, with some effort, carrying his injured arm close to his chest. "I don't know if they're alive. I can only hope. Certainly they've been in hiding for as long as we have."

"You want us to go make contact?" The Courier stretched her arms out slowly. "No problem."

Graham gave her a hard stare. "It would pay to not underestimate the White Legs," he said coldly. "After your most recent attack on them they would not make the mistake of underestimating you."

"Are you sure you're not _over_estimating them?" she asked. There was a hint of condescension in her tone she was almost proud of.

"'Tribal' does not mean 'foolish'." His eyes were cold. "A distinction I don't believe you've made. The White Legs are fierce warriors. They survive by raiding. They have no agricultural or pastoral capabilities, they exist only by killing."

"It's kind of poetic, in a way," she said. "That you spent so long destroying tribes and now one's come to destroy you."

"Not as poetic as one might think," he said flatly. "It's because of the Legion they're here. They were sent to destroy New Canaan because of me."

"So you've brought yet another tribe to their destruction. Well done."

"I'm _trying _to avoid it," he said through gritted teeth.

"And you've done a great job of that so far, haven't you?" The Courier knew she was baiting him, knew she was pushing a dangerous man close to his limits, but couldn't swallow the retort.

What do you want from me?" he growled, real fury beginning to enter his tone.

"I want you to do a single fucking damn thing to try and right the wrong you've done," snarled the Courier.

"I am protecting this tribe," he said. "I am teaching them to be self-sufficient. How to defend themselves, how to fight for what is theirs. How to-" his voice became quieter. "How to protect themselves from anyone who would... take their land, or children, or identity away from them."

The Courier stared into his bright blue eyes for a long moment, and nodded. "Alright," she said. "I'll go check on them. When it's dark again."

He gave her an equally long, measuring look. "Thank you," he said at last. "I have grave concerns for their safety."

The Courier left, weary and sore and streaked with blood and dirt. Cass helped her back to her room and she collapsed on what passed for the bed.

She slept, although not well. Although her sleeping pallet was lifted above the cold rock floor by dried branches and covered with animal skins, she couldn't get comfortable, and the damp of the cave seemed to sink into her bones. The noises of the other people in the cave, moving and talking and working, kept her from settling into a deep sleep.

It was sometime in the early morning when she finally gave up her attempts to pretend she was lying in her bed in the penthouse suite at the 38, with only the gentle hum of the computer-controlled air conditioning breaking the complete silence.

She cracked open the last bottle of Nuka-Cola that she'd brought with her and wandered through the caves. Most of the Dead Horses looked at her warily or even threateningly, so she bypassed them quickly.

Raul was still awake, and was working on one of the guns the Dead Horses sometimes carried. He looked up to see her hesitating in the doorway.

"You should try out one of these," he said. "It packs a little more power than that pea-shooter you got there."

"What is it?" She sat down against the wall.

".45," he said.

"Is that huge? It sounds huge."

"What's yours, a .357? This one won't be too hard on you. Mostly just pokes a bigger hole."

She took the gun from his hands and aimed it at the far wall. The sights glowed gently as they lined up in the dimness.

"That's really cute!" She handed it back to him.

He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but took the gun back without comment.

"Is that how you run your city?" he asked instead. "Fighting with everyone important?"

"More often than not," she said gloomily.

He laughed. "Least you're consistent." He picked up a suppressor and began fitting it to the barrel of the pistol. "So," he said. "You and that sniper kid hooked up?"

She felt a slow, creeping sense of guilt. She hadn't realised how much she really hadn't included him in anything the rest of the group had done.

"Yeah," she said. "We're - yeah."

"He good to you?"

She had to swallow a lump in her throat. "Yeah."

"Good," he said. "You seem... more settled now."

She watched his hands as he checked the slide.

"I - I'm sorry," she said.

Raul didn't look up. "For?"

"For not... working with you." The words came out forced and awkward. "For not really paying you any attention, for-"

"It's okay, kid," he said quietly, still working on the pistol in his hands. "I can see why you didn't have much use for me."

"But that's the thing," she said earnestly. "I was wrong. I never really gave you a chance, but you've proved that you deserved one."

He looked up at her, cautiously, and seemed to study her face. "Thanks," he said, finally. "I, uh... I'm ecstatic to be living up to your exacting standards."

She glared. "Stop _doing _that," she said.

He just laughed. "Here you go," he said, handing her the .45. "Try it out. Play with it. See how you like it."

She grinned as she took it. "You ready to go?"

"Could do with another six hours sleep," he said. "But yeah, let's go."

Raul and Follows-Chalk left along with her. They didn't make much more than a token attempt to stay silent or hidden, and aside from one or two gigantic geckos, met with little threat as they wound their way north.

The Narrows was empty in the bright moonlight. The valley rose high and steep on each side of the river, cave mouths only visible high above them The Courier looked around for ways into the caves, and after locating a few false paths, eventually began climbing.

Follows-Chalk became nervous as they scaled the cliffs, skirting outcroppings and where bridges had been destroyed, leaping, or climbing over the rocks to a place that would let them cross over.

"This," said the scout. "Here. Where they should be."

The Courier unholstered her new .45 and stepped inside. Once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she saw the cave was empty. There were signs that it had been evacuated in a hurry, animal skins left half-rolled up, a hastily-kicked out fire, food growing mouldy on the ground.

The Courier held up her hand to halt them, straining her ears, but the cave system was silent.

"Not here," said Follows-Chalk.

"Where would they go?" she asked.

The scout shrugged unhappily. "This is not good news," he said. "Let us return quickly."

They stepped back outside.

Familiar white hand-prints caught the Courier's eye, and her breath caught in her throat. She began walking towards it almost without realising.

"We need to get back to Joshua," said Follows-Chalk.

"He can wait a few more minutes," she said. "I won't be long."

The entrance was scattered with human bones, and she avoided them warily. The cave's inhabitant showed a remarkable level of ingenuity in placing traps, far better hidden than the majority of those she'd run into - often literally - in the Sierra Madre. And sometimes he seemed like he had a sense of morbid humour. A mine under a children's toy. A bear trap hidden by scattered pieces of scrap metal. It somehow made her feel like she understood him more, in a way, figuring out how his mind worked by where he placed his traps.

The flicker of the monitor on the cave wall up ahead sent a surge of adrenaline through her, but she forced herself to walk, carefully, checking for traps and making a cursory circuit of the cave - taking a set of pre-war ranger combat armour - before logging on to the terminal and beginning to read.

"You were right," she said to Raul. "About the Vault. They did make it this far. And brought that plant-plague thing with them."

She read the entries hungrily, desperate to know more.

"Ugh," she exclaimed. "Jesus. They ate - they ate the people he was watching out for."

"Ate them?" asked Raul. "But didn't it say earlier that he saw animals here? Why not hunt them?"

"Well, the 22-ers shot a lot of them first. But yeah, ate the rest. I guess... because of the infection? I think it started in their lungs, and then - I don't know. Did they turn into those green things? Shit. I really have no fucking idea, that's disgusting."

Raul bent to read the terminal over her shoulder. "And then he started hunting them."

The Courier couldn't read any more. The author's horror and disgust and despair made her feel ill. He'd found a purpose, of sorts. Guarding, nurturing a band of survivors, only to have it taken away from him again.

"Come on," said Raul. "Scout's right. We need to leave."

She trailed behind as she followed the others to the cave entrance.

The early pre-dawn light was beginning to creep over the silent valley, glimmering on the low stream that ran through it. It was possibly the first time since arriving that the Courier had really seen Zion. And it was beautiful, the plants blowing gently in the brisk morning breeze, the baked terracotta of the soil, the burbling of the water. There seemed to be so much life here.

"Now."

She heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the rocks above her, and began to turn, hand on her gun. But before she could even draw it, something hit her hard on the back of the head, and she dropped into darkness.


	21. And Poker

I love all my reviewers so much. SO MUCH. ALL OF YOU.

* * *

The Courier woke up lying face down in the dust. There was a knee pressing down on the middle of her back and a hand on the back of her head. She struggled in a moment of panic, trying to push herself up.

The hand on the back of her head grabbed a handful of her hair and slowly and deliberately lifted her head, then brought it down again, hard, cracking her head against the warm stone. She made a noise in the back of her throat.

"Bring her up." It was the voice she'd heard briefly just after leaving the cave. His accent was broad and flat, but definitely not tribal.

The knee disappeared from her back and she was lifted again by her hair, pulled straight off the ground and back until she was kneeling. Her eyes flickered frantically around the scene in front of her. Two men in front. One behind her, though she couldn't see him. Shotguns. Black leather. Highway signs on their chests. They were high up. Holy shit they were high up. Zion Valley spread out below them.

"You gotta make sure," the larger of the men in front of her said. "When you enter a cave with only one entrance, that no one sees you go in. That's a mistake you've made twice, now, princess." His tone was light, almost mocking, but the grin he gave her made her blood run cold.

"Nice of you to be watching out for me." Her lip was split. She lifted a hand to wipe the blood away from her mouth.

"My pleasure," he said. "You've made some entertaining viewing. What is this thing, anyway?" he asked, holding up the holorifle.

Her heart sank at the sight of the gun in his hands.

"I don't really know," she said. "A crazy old man gave it to me."

"You seem to be pretty handy with it," he said, still grinning. "I'm surprised you wouldn't know any more."

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Pretty much an energy shotgun," she said. "Far as I can tell. Kills pretty much anything in two shots. Don't know how it works."

"Sounds useful."

"It is."

"Now why would a little girl like you have a gun like this?" The way he was looking at her reminded her of the way a nightstalker watches its prey. Already knowing what the outcome was going to be.

Her arms were free but her weapons had been taken off her. She couldn't reach a damn thing. The leader noticed her desperate eyes darting around the high ledge, searching for a way out.

"Just assume for a minute we aren't going to hurt you," he said. "And that we're just curious."

She took a shaky breath and let it out again. "I was serious about the crazy old man," she said. "He was Brotherhood." She paused. "We killed him."

"Makes sense," he said. "Now how about you tell us what someone like you is doing all the way out here? You're no tribal. What are you?"

"I'm a- a messenger. A courier."

He raised an eyebrow. "Lot of ordnance for a courier."

"I got shot in the head once," she said. "Was more or less hoping to avoid that happening again."

His grin widened. "Decent tactics for a courier, too. You get taught how to blow up mountains in courier-school?"

"Picked it up as I went along, really," she forced a sickly smile. "Where are the others I was with?" she asked. The sentence had come out almost pleading.

"Hit one of 'em," he said thoughtfully. "Fell off the cliff down there. Other one jumped off a ledge and got into one of the branching caves so we let him go. Not ideal, but you're the one we were interested in."

_Which one fell__?_ She couldn't speak the words. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, adrenaline flooding her system. She clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking. "I'm flattered," she choked out.

"So," the leader said, slowly. "What are you delivering that's all the way out here?"

Nightstalkers played with their prey, sometimes, herding it in this or that direction, letting it think it might have a chance of survival, circling around before finally striking.

She licked her lips nervously, tasting blood. "Do you know who the Burned Man is?"

The leader snorted. "You sure you know where you're going with this, princess?"

She looked down over the valley. She could see where the river flowed past the cave system where the Dead Horses were hiding. "I can take you to meet him if you don't believe me," she said.

He looked at her carefully, weighing her up. "Go on."

She took a deep breath. "He wanted me to make contact with the tribe that used to be here. I - I don't suppose you know where they went?"

"They're running," he said. "They moved non-combatants out of the caves a while back. Seems the rest of them couldn't hold the caves and decided to make a run for it. Headed up north-east a ways. Had half the White Legs after them as well. Not sure how far they'll get. Expect the White Legs'll try and herd them to the Lake, see if they can run them into Legion territory."

"When was this?"

He shrugged. "Week ago?"

"What are you here for?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her presumptuousness. "Well, princess, we roll with a gang called the 80s. Got sent out as a scout party to see what the White Legs were doing all the way down here. And then we stuck around a little to see what _you _were doing here."

"Do the 80s want this land too?"

He sneered. "Not us. All these mountains, wheelers aren't much use here. The White Legs, though, they give us some trouble from time to time. Pays to watch tribals, you know. Unpredictable."

"Yeah," she said. She could feel the wind cold against the tears in her armour, one on her collarbone and the other on the shoulder.

"Alright," he sat back. There was an undertone of violence in his voice, a faint threat. "You're an interesting little girl. Ever thought of joining up with a raider gang?"

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Sure. I used to, uh, run with a gang down in the Mojave called the Fiends 'til the chems ran out and some asshole killed our leader." Hysterical laughter threatened to spill out of her mouth. "So I went legit. Courier gig."

"Yeah?" There was a curiosity in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "What would be your chem of choice, I wonder."

"Med-x," she said. That wasn't a lie, at least. "Jet's not bad, either. Did you know you can actually displace all the oxygen in your body with too much jet and then you die?"

"I did indeed, princess," he said. "Why don't you come back with us? Most people find it hard to get back into normal life after raiding. I'd imagine you're no different."

"Uh - no. Thanks. I'm doing okay."

He had a look on his face like he'd been setting up a joke and he was finally about to deliver the punchline. "So," he said. "The last question you need to answer is _what should we do with you instead_? Why should we let you go? We've satisfied our curiosity. What else you got?"

A gust of wind howled over the cliffs, blowing her hair into her eyes. She clenched her jaw so hard it almost hurt. "Why don't you take the holorifle?" she asked lightly. "Just take it. It's the best gun I own."

"Seems to me," he said, grin slowly spreading across his face. "That we've got that already."

The man behind her was breathing into her ear. "Can't we keep her?" he asked. "Just 'til sundown. If she lasts that long."

She tried to stifle a wave of panic. "I- I've got maybe fifteen thousand caps back at our camp," she said.

"That's a lot of caps for a courier. Decent offer, though," he said reflectively, scratching his chin with the barrel of his shotgun. "But we'd have to let you go so you could get them. The the idea that you'd need to come back to us afterward might just flit right out of your pretty little head."

"She doesn't sound like she wants to stay," said the man behind her. "Now why would that be, little girl? Got someone special back home?"

"Yeah," she said, voice almost a whimper. "First Recon sniper with NCR."

The leader laughed. "You can't just make up stories to scare us, princess. The NCR's not the big bogeyman out here that it is further east."

She bit her lip, hard, tearing the skin again and sending a trickle of blood down her chin. "Okay," she said. "The, uh - the White Legs territory borders yours, is that what you said?"

"That is what I said."

"But they're not only bogged down here, they've split their forces."

A slow smile spread over his face. "I think I see where you're going with this," he said. "Go on, make your offer."

The Courier moved forward, just a little, as the hand tangled in her hair tightened. "Alright. We take out the group still left here, and then hunt down the ones chasing the tribals."

"You and the_ Burned Man _are going to do this?"

"Well I haven't pitched it to him yet, but I think he'll go for it."

He paused, casting a critical eye over her. "Alright." He grinned. "We'll see how you do. Don't try and make a run for it, either - we'll be watching."

The smaller man, who had remained silent, handed her her pistol and the rifle Ratslayer. "Watch yourself," he said with a smirk.

"Do I get my holorifle back?" she asked.

The leader grinned. "Not a chance, princess."

She stood up, swayed a little - she'd have to check that head injury later - and turned around, taking steps that got more steady as they went, and took the only path she could see that led back into the valley. She turned back, just once. The men had vanished.

The path was loose with dirt and more than once she lost her footing and skidded down the narrow walkway, but at last she made it back down to the Narrows.

_Which one had fallen__?_ She walked to up to the ledge overlooking the river and looked down.

Green jumpsuit. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Raul was lying face-down on the stony river shore, legs half in the water. She couldn't see blood, but she'd been away for a while, so that it could have all washed away. She walked down to the riverbed with tears blurring her vision, and began wading through the water. She'd failed him. Hadn't tried to understand him. Ignored him in favour of the humans she knew instead. Too busy drinking and taking chems and chasing her goddamn sniper to pay attention to him. She wiped hot tears away from her eyes.

She took hold of him by the armpits and pulled him up the bank onto the shore. Now that she'd moved him, she could see the blood that had been pooling underneath his chest. She turned him over, gingerly. Shotgun blast to the chest. Both arms broken from the fall, one of his legs, too, it looked like.

He opened his milky eyes.

"Fuck!" she shrieked, leaping back, and then just as quickly was kneeling next to him, fumbling for stimpaks. "Holy shit, how are you not dead?"

He winced as she slid the needle into his chest. "Lot of practice at not dying?" He tried to raise an arm against the sun's glare on his face, but stopped with a grunt at the pain of moving the broken limb. "The hell happened?"

The Courier moved to block the sunlight from his face so he could see. "Some raider gang wanted to say hi," she said, rolling her eyes. "Took my holorifle, too. Dicks."

He looked up at her as she tried to set the bone in his leg straight. "They tell you a name?"

"80s," she said, applying another stimpak.

He stared up at her. "The 80s," he repeated slowly. "Madre de Dios. And... you're okay?"

"Yep!" she said cheerfully. "I told them to fuck off."

"No you didn't," he said, faintly.

She picked up another stimpak. "No," she admitted. "I didn't."

"I'm glad you didn't, though," he said. "Seeing as you're still alive. And patching me up."

"The kid got away," she said. "They said he got into a cave."

Raul laughed. It looked like it hurt. "Hearing you calling someone 'a kid' never gets old." He struggled to get up. "Seriously, though, boss - what did you say to them?"

"I said I'd kill the White Legs. We're still doing that, right?"

"I think we pretty much have to, now," he said. "I'm okay. Let's go."

With the holorifle gone and Raul, despite the stimpaks, still in pain, they couldn't afford to just plow blindly through the landscape, disintegrating everything in their path. They crept, took cover behind rocks and sheltered under trees. The sun beat down on them as they followed the river south, sparkling so bright on the water that they were almost blinded.

A low buzzing stopped the Courier dead in her tracks, and too late she noticed the familiar weaving red dots on her pip-boy. The cazadores were huge, at least her height in length and possibly more, the stingers thick as her arm. And they'd seen them. There was a group of three of them, beginning to waft lazily towards them like they had all the time in the world.

The .45 felt tiny in her hands, her rifle even less helpful, as she tried to back up.

"Boss," said Raul. "Cave. Two o'clock."

They began to run through the water, kicking up spray behind them, and ducked into the cave with the cazadores mere feet behind them. One cazador landed and attempted to follow them in, clumsy on the ground, and they backed away hurriedly.

It wasn't until the Courier saw the rusted beartrap on the ground that she realised it was one of the taboo caves. She used the nearby branches to set off the beartraps, stepped over the tripwire, and backed through the door. The cazador, wings useless and antennae confused by the close quarters, backed off.

This time the Courier actually needed the stash of items the survivalist cave dweller had locked away. Fresh water, medicine, tweezers and bandages. Raul took them off her gently.

"Thanks, boss," he said. "But you don't need to play nursemaid for me. I may be old, but I can manage to pick buckshot out of my own hide. You go play with your computer things." He waved a hand towards the terminal and moved into the light where a crack in the rock let the sunshine through.

The Courier turned on the machine and smiled at the date. 2097. Twenty years. He'd survived twenty years alone. She allowed herself a smile, but felt distinctly uncomfortable when she read about his rescue of one of the Vault 22 survivors and how she'd fallen pregnant by him. Sylvie. Not really a replacement for his dead wife, but... cared for. Loved, maybe, but... maybe not in the same way. The Courier felt a tiny connection with her, across the two-hundred years between them. Second wives' club. Well, sort of. She grinned. The log detailing his preparation for the birth had the most hope in it she'd seen of any of his messages. Fear, too, but the promise of new beginnings.

The last entry on the computer stated briefly that both mother and child had died in childbirth. She read it twice, then turned the computer off. Her hands were shaking. It wasn't fair. She didn't understand why, but neither did the writer. Just accepted it, just another sign that the man who'd survived the end of the world had to survive it alone.

It was as if mentioning med-x to the 80s had planted an idea in her head, because some med-x would be fucking _amazing _right now. A soft, warm cloud, lifting her above pain and worry and sadness. She had some in her bag. She always did.

Instead, she crawled over to the pile of skins that made up the bed. "Going to sleep," she croaked at Raul. "Wake me if anything happens."

She curled up in the middle of the pile, tucking them in around her, and closed her eyes. It wasn't the same, she reminded herself. Did she really want to know the end of the story the survivalist was telling?


	22. And the Roulette Wheel

Oh man.

I don't know if I can handle doing Old World Blues, judging by the trailer. Losing parts of yourself just kind of really freaks me out even if temporary :( Like I was a little affronted when part of your brain gets taken in Point Lookout, this is potentially more horryifying D:

I guess we'll see.

* * *

The Courier woke up curled up small, the scent of the old skins she was covered in musty, but strangely comforting. She sat up. Her hair was a tangled mess, crusty with dried blood. She probed it gently, trying to see if there was any swelling or even if her skull had been cracked. It hurt like hell, but there didn't seem to be any major damage.

Raul was heating a pot over the small campfire. It smelled fantastic.

"There's more of those plant people in the rest of the cave," he said when he saw her walk clumsily down the steps. "There's a gate between them and us, but I also figured the fire might keep them away."

"Did you see the cave drawings with the people with the roots as their legs?" she asked, sleepily. "They're so creepy."

"Mm-hmm. Did you sleep okay?" he asked. "I was going to come and wake you in a couple minutes. Shouldn't sleep for too long with a head injury."

"I think I'm okay," she said. "Don't think anything's broken. What are you making?"

"Just pork and beans and some jalapenos." He looked up at her, still stirring the pot over the flames. "They didn't hurt you... at all?" he asked, hesitantly.

"Aside from beating my head in with a rock?" She grinned.

"Yeah," said Raul. "Aside from that."

Her smile on her face slipped a little. "They... talked about it," she said quietly. "Guess I talked them out of it."

"You must have put up a damn convincing argument," he said. "The 80s aren't really known as negotiators, if you know what I mean."

The Courier shrugged uncomfortably and came down to sit by the fire.

"You sure you can track down the White Legs? Well, the White Legs and the Sorrows. They've been gone a while."

"Big groups are easier," he said. "They make more mess and they have to move slower. It's the little groups that are harder to find. I once - I once tracked down seven raiders who'd taken a girl from my town. Took me three days. By the time I caught up, she was already dead." He looked at her cautiously then looked away. "Glad I didn't have to do that again."

"No one else went with you?" asked the Courier.

Raul laughed humorlessly. "No way. This was back in Arizona, before- before the Legion came through. Not much law around. The people with the guns took what they wanted, people without... lived with it. Or died for it, more often." He sighed. "I followed because she was a friend and I thought I could take them. And I did, but too late, and it wasn't easy. I'm not as young as I used to be. Can't see as well, reaction time's down. Just getting old, I guess."

"If you're slow now, you must have been a monster when you were younger," she said, stretching her arms.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have been able to take out those cabrones before they even touched you."

"Well fuck, now you're making me feel bad." She looked down at her ragged nails. "I mean, I'm like two hundred years younger than you and I didn't manage to take them out before they hit me. I guess I'm not a professional ass-kicking machine, though."

Raul laughed quietly. "You've changed a lot, boss. Since I saw you last in the Mojave."

Her smile faded from her face. "Lot of people have told me that. I guess looking a whole lot of screaming kids does that to you." She rolled her eyes.

"Never pictured you ending up in charge," he said thoughtfully.

"Me neither," she admitted. "Not sure if I'm really management material."

"By all accounts you're doing an okay job," said Raul. "So don't worry about it."

Yeah?" she asked. "What do people say about me?"

"Well, uh... I hear you're pretty hard to deal with sometimes-"

"What the _fuck_?" She sat up. "Who the fuck thinks I'm hard to deal with?"

Raul held up his hands. "You asked, boss."

She settled down again, glowering.

"I've also heard you're fair when it comes to disputes," he continued. "And genuinely want the best for the people of New Vegas."

She watched him, eyes narrowed.

"You can't please all of the people all of the time, boss. You're in charge so people are going to talk shit about you. Way things are." He handed her a bowl and a spoon.

"So what would Arizona be like now?" she asked between spoonfuls. "Someone told me the Legion was expected to shake itself apart within the year, but... is it just going to go back to tribes and raiding and just generally being shit?"

Raul shrugged. "Haven't been back east much since the big fight. Big power vacuum like that though, it's probably not in great shape."

"Raiders?" she asked.

"Probably. The Legion broke down a lot of tribal barriers, but... with nothing holding it together except an ideology, it'll fall victim to infighting just like any other cult. Maybe there's a new leader and they're keeping it quiet, I don't know. Like I said, haven't been back."

She scraped the bottom of her bowl with her spoon. "Yeah," she said. "I guess if it just all... disintegrates... what are we left with to the east?" She put down the bowl. "Lets go. Follows-Chalk must have made it back hours ago, people are probably worried. Well. Cass is probably worried."

Raul stood to follow her, and they carefully crept back to the Dead Horses' caves.

* * *

Cass caught the Courier by the arm as she trudged in through the entranceway at the base of the camp.

"The hell have you been?" she asked frantically. "Follows-Chalk said you were attacked and he only just managed to get away!"

"Ran into some raiders," said the Courier.

"All the way out here? Who?"

"Uh, the 80s."

Cass froze. "Are you okay?" she asked, voice low. Her eyes were soft with concern.

"I need to wash the blood out of my hair," she said. "Other than that, fine."

Cass stared. "The 80s?" she asked, finally.

The Courier stared back, equally perplexed. "Yes. Why are they such a big thing? What was meant to happen to me?"

"They're not really known for... for going easy on their prisoners. Especially the girls."

The Courier chewed her lip thoughtfully. "They took my holorifle?" she offered.

Cass shook her head. "For fuck's sake," she said. "You're not going out there again without me, okay?"

"I don't think we need to keep hidden anymore, so that's fine."

Cass raised an eyebrow. "This sounds like something Joshua's going to want to hear," she said, and began leading her to the main chamber.

Joshua Graham was checking a pile of .45s at a table when the Courier went in. He showed no signs of his previous injury. He looked up as she entered, and the rest of the room turned to follow his gaze.

Feeling vaguely like she was on stage, she spread her arms in a shrug. "The White Legs have split their forces," she said. "Half's still here and half is following the Sorrows north-east."

"Then we must not waste time. We have to crush them," Graham said. "We won't have another chance like this one."

"Pretty much," she said.

Cass looked at her curiously.

"What?" the Courier asked. "He's right, we only have one option, realistically."

"Okay, so, uh, where will Salt- uh, Salt... the White Legs' leader be?" asked Cass.

"I'd wager he'd be leading the hunting party," said Graham. "Yes, this all makes sense, now. Why they haven't moved against us, even though you took out so many in the north. His lieutenants aren't as capable, don't know what to do when confronted with something completely different." He stood up, eyes hard and bright. "We must leave now. First to rid Zion of White Legs, then to chase down the others. _I will leave your flesh on the mountains, and fill the valleys with your carcass. I will water the land with what flows from you, and the river beds shall be filled with your blood_."

"Oh yeah," said the Courier. "Driving them before you and hearing the lamentations of their women, right?"

He paused. "I believe," he said, slowly. "That is from Grognak."

"Oh." She shrugged. "Pre-war book is a pre-war book, isn't it?"

He didn't take the bait. "We don't have time for this childishness," he said. "Whatever you may think of me is irrelevant. "If what you say is correct, we need to act now. Make your preparations, we're leaving on the hour."

She stood staring after him as he turned and left. "Fine," she said quietly, to Raul and Cass, the only ones close enough to hear her. "Let's go and get ready."

* * *

The Courier grinned as she saw the first White Leg scout notice the large group coming to meet them. She watched through the scope of her rifle as he turned and began to run. She wrinkled her nose. He was just out of range. She kept walking through the river, almost blinding in the sunlight.

The breeze in the low valley was light and warm, ruffling the leaves on the trees. The afternoon sunlight was syrupy and golden, and the birds wheeled overhead like messengers heralding their arrival. The Courier's heart started to pound in anticipation.

The Three Marys was a valley, high and narrow. Few escape routes. The tribe had dug in, and hadn't planned on being attacked in their own home.

Graham led the war band with a feverish intensity as they closed on the White Legs' position, pushing hard and fast, giving them no time for assessing the situation. The Dead Horses, armed with .45s and huge clubs, followed him almost adoringly, as if they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. The tribe, spread out over the river and almost completely silent, descended upon the Three Marys like a divine judgement.

The White Legs opened fire first, scattering the tribe, but their shots were hasty and inaccurate. The Courier, trailing a little behind the main force with Raul at her side, crouched to aim, following the flashes from gun barrels up to the vantage points. They had lined up along the ridges of the valley, overlooking the river as it wound it's way into the camp.

The Courier was in range now, sticking close to the banks as she advanced. She picked off two before she was spotted, and had to dive to avoid the hail of .50 cal bullets that were aimed at her. She thought briefly of the bullet that Boone had given to her, tucked into a pocket in her bag, but forced the stray thought from her mind before she could dwell on it.

Her shooting was mostly keeping the White Legs behind cover as the rest of the group got into range, and the moment she heard the reassuring whir of Sampson's minigun she lowered her rifle. He sprayed the valley entrance with a thick curtain of bullets, chewing through the White Legs who tried to stand in his way or didn't move fast enough. It was almost beautiful.

The Dead Horses followed in his wake, while the Courier took out the few remaining on the cliff walls.

She drew her pistol as she got close to the valley entrance. Blood was beginning to thread through the water as it flowed out of the valley entrance. She followed the trail of corpses - White Legs and Dead Horses - further into the heart of the valley.

A body bumped against her leg, floating down the stream face-down. A White Leg, no weapons - the Dead Horses must have been taking them for themselves. She splashed through the shallow water, rounding corner after corner, gun in hand.

As she got further into the valley, Dead Horses were standing in groups, waiting to mop up any survivors. She raised a hand in greeting at Follows-Chalk, who was inspecting a submachine gun.

Joshua Graham, along with Cass, was walking back down a path that led up to the cliffs. He slowed when he saw her.

"It's finished," he said.

"It was a slaughter," said Cass, shaken.

He turned to her. "It was necessary."

He looked back towards the Courier. "Are you ready to leave? To hunt the hunters? We have no time to waste."

The Courier holstered her pistol. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

This was really hard to write for some reason. It just took a really long time and wasn't as .. easy, really, as the majority of the other chapters. Usually I just sit down and it writes itself :(

OH also I forgot to reply to whatshisface a few chapters back re: who I am - the answer is "a little girl with big dreams".


	23. A Fortune

This was really hard to write too :( whinewhinewhine. Warning: Talky.

Omg OWB is so good. I really want to include it. Somehow.

also gosh whatshisface just get an account so I can reply to your messages without A/Ning all over the place!

* * *

They left the same evening, barely stopping at the caves to pick up blankets and ammo. Graham told them they'd live off the land, hunt and forage when they needed to, and follow the path of the White Legs along the river.

The moved through the low brush and thick scrub of the valley, Graham setting a brutally fast pace. The White Legs proved easy to track, leaving scattered cans and empty boxes and shell casings in their wake. As they pushed on late into the night, the Courier moved up through the war band to catch up to Graham. She had to walk fast to keep up with his long strides.

"Can I ask you some things?" asked the Courier. "About the Legion?"

Graham looked at her warily. "Yes," he said, finally. "I may not have the answers you seek, however."

She took a few more steps before beginning. "So what's back East? Who's in charge?

"I don't know. It's been almost four years since I was in a position to give you any sort of information like that."

"Caesar and the mask guy are dead," she continued doggedly. "Who else would there be?"

He didn't reply for so long that she thought he'd just ignored her. "Varus," he said finally. "Antoninus. Septimius. Aurelius. I don't know how helpful this is, I don't expect you asked for an introduction before you killed any or all of them."

"I just want to know who's in charge. Who would we be facing if we went east?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The Legion - is essentially a mobile fighting force. There is no great civilisation or seat of government. Almost all of the important players of the Legion were at the Dam. Edward did have a succession plan in place, but you've put paid to the majority of that. No Legate, no Praetorian Guard. There is a capital, but-" he sighed, "- Edward was hoping to make New Vegas his new home."

"Edward," she repeated.

"Edward," Graham confirmed. "We wear the names we were given. Edward was - deeply unhappy with his. He asked me once if I could imagine being called 'the great dictator Edward'. But then, by that time I wasn't in a position to disagree with him." His voice was a strange mix of bitterness and amusement.

The fact that she couldn't see his face made her uneasy. All the tiny facial movements that she relied on to gauge people's mood were hidden. "So who's in charge of the Legion now? No one?" she asked.

He threw yet another unreadable glance in her direction. "The Pontif- excuse me, the high priest would be in charge of Flagstaff. And he would have a city guard to keep order while the Emperor was away."

"So this guy would be in charge right now?"

"Perhaps." Graham said slowly. "Perhaps not. There's no shortage of ambitious men in the Legion. The question is, who, if not Caesar, can hold together such an empire as it is." He raised a hand in a languid shrug.

"That's kind of why I'm asking you, yes," she said flatly.

He narrowed his eyes. "The Frumentarii-" he noticed her blank gaze "- his spy network, may be of more concern to you. I understand there may have been a number of these operating undercover in the Mojave who may not have been in the camp when you attacked."

The Courier felt a prickling feeling down her spine. "Undercover like what?"

"Oh, gamblers, merchants, prospectors. I heard of one who was a courier. Easy to move around a lot, as a courier."

"Who?" she asked. "What? Who are they?"

He shook his head. "My information is outdated enough to be useless to you. I don't know any further details."

She fell silent, simmering with anger and frustration. "So who's idea was it to treat women like property?" she asked finally. "I really think that let the Legion down a lot. From a PR perspective."

"Edward was very focused on empire-building," he began slowly. "It was never-" he began. "Never..." He bowed his head. "In order to build a great empire, you need a - a solid population base. To maintain a high birthrate, it is necessary to control, to some extent, females of breeding age, would they not cooperate of their own volition."

"That's fucking disgusting." Her voice shook.

"Yes," he replied tersely. After a few more steps he spoke again."I would undo it, if I could. But the time when I had any influence is long past. I have tried to put it behind me. I understand that is not a... satisfactory ending for some."

"No fucking shit," she snarled.

He looked at her coolly. "I have attempted to turn my life to doing good. To giving instead of taking. To a higher justice than man's own. I know your opinion of me is not high, but quite frankly, that is none of my concern."

She sneered. "I think you're a sad sack of shit that didn't realise what he was doing was wrong until he got kicked out of the fucking boys-only-club."

He studied her, eyes hard, and then, to her surprise, sighed. "Perhaps truer than you realise. Lying in the bottom of the ravine, bones splintered almost to dust and with the last flames dying on my skin, I did... re-evaluate my decisions. Maybe it was a fitting punishment for my crimes against man. My sins against the Lord, conversely, will be dealt with... elsewhere."

"Why won't you face it?" she asked, raising her voice. "Face what you've done."

And just like that, his calm veneer was back in place. "Would you wish for more hair shirts and self-flagellation?" he asked, almost amused. "If you're looking to start a grand crusade you'd better leave now. Because there won't be anything left if you wait much longer."

"I don't want that." She shook her head impatiently. "I don't want to just let Arizona go back to the way it was. Torn up by raiders. I mean, if slaves were treated badly under you guys, I can't imagine they'd be better off with no law at all."

He looked down at her curiously. "That's what concerns you? You're not interested in creating an empire?"

"I don't think that'd work," she said. "Just judging by what's going on with the NCR. No, I -" she paused, looking carefully up at Graham. "Never mind."

She stopped, allowing Graham to go forward without her, waiting for Cass to catch up, but Graham held up a hand high above his head.

"We'll make camp here tonight," he announced to the tribe. "Stay close, we leave at first light."

* * *

The Courier sat cross-legged next to the fire, trying not to burn chunks of gecko meat speared onto a skewer. Every so often the meat would start to smoke, at which point she'd have to raise it high above the flames.

"You're doing that all wrong, you know," said Cass, sitting down next to her. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "You either cook it in a pot over the fire, or you wait until it's down to coals before roasting it on a skewer."

The Courier glared at the meat. It was almost black around the outside, but the last time she'd tested it it was almost completely raw on the inside.

"You want me to do that for you?" asked Cass.

The Courier handed the skewer over grumpily. "Thanks," she said, grudgingly. "Too many Ultra-Luxe dinners lately, I guess."

Cass took a small pot from her bag and began to fry the meat. "Was meaning to ask you," she said. "You still keep Med-X in your bag?"

The Courier felt a humourless grin tug at the corner of her mouth. She'd known this was coming. "Yep," she said.

"So what's it for?"

The Courier shrugged a shoulder. "It's useful."

"Do you _use_it?" Cass asked flatly.

"Don't have much call to, these days." She smiled. "City girl. You know how it is."

"You know what?" asked Cass irritably. "I don't think I do." Cass' gaze was piercing, almost aggressive.

The Courier looked away. "I don't carry it for me," she said.

"I'm sorry," said Cass. "Did I ask you who you carried it for? _Do you use it_? Two answers: yes, no. Which?"

The Courier studied Cass' face, the flush in her cheeks, her angry green eyes. "No."

"Bullshit." Cass said, barely giving the Courier enough time to finish the word. "I don't believe you."

"That's your right as a citizen of New Vegas."

"Why do you keep fucking doing that?" Cass exploded.

"Doing what?"

"Talking around in circles. Ugh, it's just like talking to Benny." She folded her arms and rested her head on them.

The Courier froze. "Like Benny, huh?"

The light from the fire flickered on Cass' face in the dimness. "Yeah," said Cass. "A little. Since you took over. And especially since the Yes Man thing."

The Courier sighed. "Yeah. Fucking Yes Man. Wish he wasn't right about so many things."

"He- what?" asked Cass.

The Courier pushed herself back from the heat of the fire. It was almost overwhelming. "He had some good points," she said. "I should really try to resolve that once we get home. Shit. Who would fucking volunteer to run a city?"

"It makes you different," Cass said.

"Isn't that what life is? Things happen to you and it makes you different."

"You're a lot more serious now. Remember when we were up at Jacobstown and we got really drunk in one of the cabins and went out hunting those invisible nightstalkers?"

A laugh forced itself through the Courier's throat. "Did we hit any?" she asked. "I only remember I was trying to aim your shotgun for you."

Cass shook her head. "I don't think we made it out of the gates. But you thought you kept seeing them everywhere. Lily got mad when you almost hit one of the bighorners, I think."

"I haven't been up there in ages," said the Courier quietly. "I sent Dog up there months ago. Told him I'd visit. Haven't. Probably gossips with Keene about what a bitch I am." She tossed the bone into the fire. "There's just so much I don't have time for. It's driving me crazy."

Cass handed her the bottle. "I'm not saying give it all up so you can come on stupid drunk adventures with me. Because we're pretty much on one right now. It just seems like it makes you so unhappy."

The Courier took a gulp of whiskey. "I've got too many balls in the air," she began.

"Nothing wrong with balls in the air," interrupted Cass. "If you're into that."

The Courier snorted. "I think the job's just... too big for me. Even with Benny's help. It just... ugh. I don't know." She took another gulp. "So what's actually up with you and Swank?"

Cass laughed, surprised. "Uh, what?"

"It was actually him who pointed out you were missing. Which I obviously feel terribly about. But he seemed quite upset."

"Oh, did he?" asked Cass, still laughing. "That's sweet. I - well. I guess we have a thing, if you wanna call it that. It's not particularly exclusive though. At least I assumed it wasn't." She cast a sidelong glance at the Courier.

"You could do a lot worse," said the Courier. "I mean, Swank is like prime eligible bachelor material."

Cass smiled fondly, eyes distant. "Could do a lot worse and have done a lot worse," she said. "That's, uh, interesting. Thanks. I'm going to turn in." She handed the pot to the Courier, meat still sizzling inside. "Night," she said over her shoulder as she walked away.

The Courier stared into the flames as they rose and fell, long into the night.


	24. Won and Lost

I've been TERRIBLE with updates lately. Sorry :) Not much left in this one, I think.

* * *

Four days march through the valley. Four days through the rain that turned the dust into a red paste, spattered up their legs. Four days as the wind whipped through the valley, whistling through the trees. Four days of hunting and fishing, rising with the sun and walking late into the night.

Along the way they'd started to see signs of struggle, the bodies of the Sorrows who had fallen. Sometimes the bodies of White Legs lay there too, but their numbers were few in comparison with the Sorrows.

"Leave them," Graham had said when the Dead Horses tried to bury them. "We can take care of them on the way back. We can't waste time or more will die." He marched at the head of the main body of the Dead Horses, scouts the only ones further ahead.

The occasional gunfire they heard in the distance became louder and louder, echoing around the canyon walls, and Graham became more cautious, eventually insisting that the Dead Horses make camp far inside a narrow, winding canyon off the river.

As the tribe was setting up their camp for the night, the skies opened. At first it was a light patter of rain on the ground, then a roar, fat droplets pitting the dust.

The Courier huddled under a leaky makeshift shelter, an animal skin wrapped around her in a futile attempt to keep dry and warm. Not for the first time, she wished they could start a fire, but Graham had vetoed them in case it gave away their position. The noise of a cleared throat behind her made her turn. Graham was standing beside her in the darkening evening, a hand on his pistol. She stood.

"Scouts say we're close to their camp," he said, quietly. "They're not expecting us, as far as I can tell."

"What do you want me for?" she asked.

"I want you to see what we're facing."

She picked up her rifle. "Alright," she said. "Can we get Raul?"

"I'm coming already, boss," Raul said, stepping out of the shadows. "I've been up there scouting already."

She looked from one man to the other. "Okay. Let's go."

They followed Raul out of the camp and back to the river, staying close to the edges of the canyon as it wound around. It was maybe half a mile before the Courier saw the smoke, high and ghostly in the darkness, rising from the White Legs' camp.

They crept on knees and elbows through the dirt and under bushes, faces smeared with damp earth to be less visible. The trees were stark and sparse, low to the ground. They didn't provide much cover, should anyone approach their position, but the tribe in front of them didn't seem concerned at the potential for an attack on their position.

They stopped at Raul's signal behind a small peak, giving them enough height to see most of the camp, while still being hard to see in the bush. Rain hissed dully on the tree leaves around them as they settled in to the position. The Courier flattened herself against the ground and stretched out her rifle, looking through the scope.

The camp seemed chaotic, people clustered close together. The White Legs weren't making an effort to be quiet, the rain loud enough to dampen all sounds. Their camp was chaotic and undisciplined, the tribals talking and laughing. They were gathered in small groups around a number of campfires, stacked high against the rain and filling the air with smoke. At the edge of the camp, a bighorner had been tied up tightly to a tree.

Their armour was minimal, leather strapping and loincloths, but they had scavenged pieces of civilisation attached to it; military-issue canteens, belts, and protective padding that was more a nod to the idea of armour than any real protection.

"We'll attack at dawn," said Graham, voice low. "Prepare yourselves."

The Courier contemplated this, watching the camp, then looked up. "What's their leader like?"

"His name is Salt-Upon-Wounds," he said. "He would tear everything you have built down, if he could. He lives for destruction. He salted the ground at New Canaan, so nothing could grow there again."

The Courier shuffled forwards on her elbows. "So what happens if we take him out?

"What happens?" he looked at her incomprehendingly.

"Surgical strike," whispered the Courier. "In and out. Take out this Salt guy. If his lieutenants here are as bad as the ones back in Zion, they'll have nothing to hold them together."

"And then what?" he asked.

"I don't know," she hissed. "Tell the rest to fuck off or something. You said they're not much of a threat without a leader."

He laughed humourlessly. "We've won, you can all go home now"?"

"If you're really that keen on slaughtering all of them we could do that instead, I guess."

She saw him turn his head towards her in the dim flicker of the distant fires. "Why does it matter to you?" he asked.

"Mostly because this way probably decreases my chance of getting killed," she said. "I wish I had my fucking holo-rifle back. Could probably solo the camp with that. Without it..." She shrugged. "Why are you so keen on murdering everything, anyway? Habit?"

"They killed my family," he said. "My people. An ounce of mercy is too much."

She looked up at him critically. "Does it feel good?" she asked. "Leading an army again? Life and death in the palm of your hand?"

She heard Raul shift behind her. Graham didn't reply.

"That's a decent reason, though," she admitted, turning back to her scope. "To be honest. I mean, murdering your family is pretty much right up there for justified revenge reasons. No shame in that."

She flinched as the sky above them flashed white. Almost immediately a deafening boom rolled around the hills.

"What would you know of revenge?" he asked once it had died down. "To spare your own executioner is foolish at best."

"Worked out okay, didn't it?" she sneered, ignoring the treacherous voice in her head that was asking if it was really going to work out all that well after all. "And I took out your executioner for good measure. Still. If your people took you back in after what you did, they must have been pretty fucking forgiving. Not many people like that around these days."

"They took me in without asking a single question," he said quietly. There was a long silence as he looked out at the camp. "Alright. I'll go. Alone. It will be easier to stay hidden without either of you."

"Go ahead," said the Courier. "I'll cover you." She grinned when he turned to look at her her, his head a silhouette against the flickering light from the camp. Another flash of lightning illuminated him, just for an instant - his eyes were bright and tense in his bandaged face. "If you can't trust me," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear against the steady rain. "Who can you trust?"

The darkness was thick as the lightning faded. He turned without another word and set out through the bush.

The Courier watched him through the green nightvision filter of her scope. He moved quickly, far more quickly than she'd thought possible of a man whose skin must pull and tear with every step. He crawled through the high grass, hand on his pistol and eyes fixed on the camp, scanning for movement outside the circle of light caused by the flickering flames. He froze as a White Legs scout walked past him less than three feet away, Graham's unmoving form almost invisible in the blackness. Her finger touched her trigger gently, and her lips curved into a smile. Trigger discipline. She straightened her finger to lie flat against the trigger guard.

Graham climbed up the small incline behind the camp, and crouched between two large rocks to watch for his opportunity to strike. She followed his line of sight. Out of a tribe which adorned themselves with warpaint and animal skins, the leader seemed to be the one wearing what looked like a skull on his head, an animal jawbone with eyes crudely etched in charcoal, and decorated with feathers. He was laughing. He lifted the helmet to drink from a bottle.

She squirmed as the rain soaked her hair, slicking it to the back of her neck. Drops trickled down her spine. The heat of the White Legs' fires she saw through her scope seemed an impossible luxury to her, lying prone on the damp ground, knees and elbows and hips and feet spattered and soaked with red-brown mud.

"What's going on?" asked Raul, inching closer.

"Nothing," she said. "Wanna see?" She offered the rifle.

He took it, and seemed to locate Graham in seconds. "Good place to wait," he said.

"Do you think this is the right thing to do?" she asked.

"Wouldn't know, boss," he said, turning the rifle towards the camp. "You're the one who's used to making decisions."

She snorted.

A bolt of lightning struck a tree high on the canyon wall above them, strong enough to ignite the damp leaves and send a shower of sparks down over the White Legs' camp. Someone shrieked in delight.

"Seems like they're doing something with the bighorner." He handed the rifle back to her. The rain was falling heavier now, drumming against the ground and trees around them.

Salt-Upon-Wounds handed his bottle to one of the others. He stood, somewhat unsteadily, and began making his way towards the edge of the camp alone. She tensed in anticipation, and turned back towards Graham. He was sitting tensed, hands resting lightly on the rock. He shrank back behind the rock as Salt-Upon-Wounds walked past him, and then stepped around the side of the rock to follow the leaders' footsteps.

The bighorner was uneasy as people began to surround it, untying it from the tree and leading it to the centre of the camp.

Graham caught up to the tribes' leader, paused for a second right behind him. He seemed almost close enough for the tribal to feel his breath on the back of his neck. Graham struck, wrapping the crook of his elbow around Salt-Upon-Wounds' windpipe and tightened. The tribal's arms flew to his neck, frantically trying to pull the arm away, but the grip was and tight and crushing as a vice. The strength seemed to drain out of him, and he sagged against Graham.

The bighorner brayed nervously, now the centre of a circle of tribals standing clustered around it. Two White Leg were tightly holding the leather strap that had bound it to the tree. One figure was making it's way through the crowd of tribals, daubed with bright red paint which was starting to smear in the rain. He hefted a huge club over his head, and the crowd went silent. With a cry, he brought the club down on the bighorner's head over and over again.

Salt-Upon-Wounds was slumped on his knees on the ground, Graham standing over him. Graham leaned down and seemed to speak to the tribal leader. Salt-Upon-Wounds shook his head. Graham stepped back a little, then unholstered his gun, hauled his arm back, and smashed the butt of his gun across his prisoner's face. The Courier could see Graham's eyes, almost glowing with rage, as he brought down the gun again and again, cracking the bone, blood streaming down the tribal's face. Her stomach churned but she couldn't stop watching the frenzied attack. This hadn't been the clean strike operation she'd thought it would be. She grimaced. How could she have expected Graham to do anything else?

Salt-Upon-Wounds crumpled under the assault, holding up his hands to fend off the blows. When this failed, he hunched over, curling up in the mud to protect himself from Graham's pistol. Graham took a step back, then kicked the tribes' leader harshly, pushing him over backwards. The tribal held up a hand in surrender or self-defence He stretched out his arm and put a bullet into Salt-Upon-Wounds' forehead. The canyon echoed with the gun shot. The camp fell silent.

"_Fuck_," cursed the Courier, leaping off the low ridge. She was running towards Graham and the dead tribal leader almost before she realised she was moving. She could hear Raul behind her, his footsteps squelching in the mud. Her heart was pounding in her ears. They didn't have much time. She wasn't completely sure who she was intending to protect, Graham or the White Legs.

Graham had turned to the tribal camp, gun in hand, as if he were challenging them to attack. The White Legs stared at him and the corpse of their leader, stunned, not even taking up their weapons.

"Eer guerra contra te," he growled, voice low but powerful.

The White Legs stared at him, wide eyed. One warrior made a sudden movement, reaching for the SMG at his side. Graham lifted his hand, almost lazily, and shot him neatly in the forehead. There was a hushed murmur as the tribe tried to shuffle back.

"Es meti," he said. "Go."

Another flash of lightning lit up the canyon. Everything seemed frozen in place in the sudden flash of white.

"Go," Graham said again, louder, and this time the White Legs began scrambling to pick up what they could and start heading back the way they had come, leaving their fires and belongings, barely stopping to pick up their weapons.

He watched until they were long gone, rain soaking through his bandages, glaring after them into the darkness. At last, he turned to the Courier. "Satisfied?" he asked, dryly.

"I'm not sure," she replied, honestly. "But... I think you did the right thing. If there was one."

He laughed bitterly. "What does it matter, now?" He looked back out at the path left by the retreating White Legs. "If they hurt anyone else it will be on your head."

She let out a long breath and put away her rifle. "Where are the Sorrows?"

"With the remnants of New Canaan," he said. "Still trying to gain ground, most likely. Care to meet them? We may catch them by morning, if we're quick."

She looked to Raul, who shrugged. "Don't think I'll be able to sleep after that, boss," he said. "That was almost too much for an old man's heart."

She smiled wearily. "One thing I've learned about you is that you can do a lot more than you say you can. Come on. The sooner we catch them, the less we actually have to walk."

They set off into the raining dark.


	25. On Every Deal

1. Holy shit guys, _If I Didn't Care_ just hit forty fucking thousand views. Thanks to you all :)

2. Who are you, person from Croatia? Omg I love looking at these country stats.

3. Feedback welcome :)

4. Why does the document editor always over-count my wordcount by several hundred words? IDGI

* * *

They were in the Sorrows camp before they realised it, almost stumbling over sleeping bodies in the cold, wet night.

The Sorrows' eyes gleamed in the light from the Courier's pip-boy, cold and scared and huddled together in the blackness. They hadn't lit fires or even built shelters to protect themselves from the rain, just walked until they couldn't any more, and stopped there. The murmuring voices grew louder and louder as they walked further into the camp.

"Joshua?" A man pushed through the tribals into the circle of light. "Is that - is it really you?"

"Daniel," he acknowledged. "I'm glad you're safe. Are the others..."

"They're here," said Daniel, still incredulous. "Everyone's here. I don't know if we could have kept going much longer, but... What's left of us are here." He looked over to Raul and the Courier. "Is it... over?"

Graham cast a contemplative look in their direction. "It seems so."

"What did you do?" Daniel asked hesitantly.

Graham paused. "What was... necessary."

The Courier could barely meet Daniel's questioning eyes. "Are you okay to come back with us?" she asked instead. "We have food, and medicine and everything back at our camp. I mean, I've got a bunch of stimpaks and a whole lot of insta-mash, for some reason, on me at the moment, but... you guys look like you need some proper food." She handed over what she had awkwardly. "You're going to be safe, now," she said, more to fill the gaping silence than anything. "I think."

"Thank you," he said, still looking at her in confusion. "I'd like to- to speak with you later. If you have the time."

"Sure," she said. "When things are settled more."

She watched the camp as word that the White Legs were gone slowly spread, people's faces lighting up with shock and amazement as the whispered messages were passed from person to person, tribal and New Canaanite alike.

"I think we're done here, boss," said Raul. "Unless you want to bask in the adoration of the tribespeople a little more. You like that sort of thing, right?"

She mustered the energy for a half-hearted glare. "Okay," she said. "At least we can fucking start some fires now. Cook some food. Warm up. Maybe make better shelters from the rain."

"Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves," said Raul. "It's still a decent walk back to the camp. And then another four days until we get back to Zion. And then a week, almost, until we get back to the Mojave."

"My legs are aching already," she said. "Let's head back."

* * *

The valley of the Sorrows was starting to return to normal, Daniel assured her. Children ran across terrifyingly shaky bridges, the tribespeople were bringing in fresh food and plant life. A tiny tame gecko was snapping at fish in the water.

"Have you found God yourself?" asked Daniel.

She smiled bitterly. "I found God in the police station in the Sierra Madre," she said. "And he was not at all happy about it."

"I don't think-" Daniel began.

She held up a hand, but her smile softened. "I'm sorry," she said. "Thank you, but, uh, someone had a saying for me, back before things really... happened in the Mojave. They said 'no gods, no masters'. And I've tried to stick to it."

He fell silent. "Who gave that phrase to you?" he asked, eventually.

She rolled her eyes. "A fucking _asshole _of a robot who got way too fucking self important and downloaded a fucking 'entitled douche' module from motherfucking House's backups," she snapped. She took a breath and let it out again. "Sorry."

He held up his hands. "It's not for me to judge," he said, with a faint smile. "It sounds as if your life in the Mojave troubles you."

She looked up at him warily. "It... has it's frustrating moments," she admitted. "Are you going to try and Jesus me?"

He laughed. "Stealth is not a preferred method of conversion to the Lord," he said. "But He can be a great source of comfort in times of hardship. Why don't you take this?" He held out a book.

"Not really much of a reader," she said, but she took it gingerly.

"Thank you," he said. "Again. The Sorrows are home, and safe, and... unharmed. You've done them a great service."

"Are they going to be safe here?" she asked. "What if other tribes come along wanting their land?"

Daniel smiled sadly. "We'll deal with that if and when it comes up," he said. "But there aren't many other tribes competing for space in this area at the moment."

"What about the rest of the New Canaanites?" she asked.

"They, too, are safe," he said. "Thanks to you and your friends. We will take up what we have managed to save and build our city anew."

"Good," she said. It felt inadequate. "If New Vegas can assist... please, feel free to ask for anything."

"Thank you," he said, regarding her curiously.

"Strong trading partners benefit everyone," she said, rolling her eyes. "And seriously, we have shitloads of money. Shitloads. No matter what that fucking robot says."

His curious gaze deepened into a frown.

"It's probably not worth an explanation," said the Courier apologetically. "Just... take care of yourselves. And the Sorrows, and the Dead Horses."

He nodded solemnly. "We will."

* * *

The Courier sat out onan outcropping overlooking the canyon. She sat close to the dropoff but was not quite daring enough to dangle her feet over the edge. The valley dropped away in rich red columns below her, life springing from every surface. It was so far away from the lifeless, dry heat of the Mojave she almost didn't want to go back.

She heard footsteps, slow and measured, come up behind her, and she half turned her head, more to acknowledge the presence of the other person than to see who they were.

'I expect I should thank you," said Joshua Graham. His voice made the hair on the back of her neck rise.

She let the sentence hang in the air, a half-smile on her face. "Don't feel like you haveto extend yourself," she said, finally.

"This would not have been possible without you," he said, stiffly. "A lot of people would have died."

"Seriously," she said. "Don't worry about it."

"I think-" he paused. "That by different means we approach the same goal."

"What goal would that be?"

"To prevent the pride of man from growing too great and destroying himself."

She looked up at him. "New Vegas is a monument to man's excesses," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I don't think we're so similar."

"You seek to guide as much as I do," he countered. "You do not seek the accumulation of power. You seek to... protect."

"How do you figure that?" she asked, faint smile still on her face.

"By talking to your friends," he said. "They speak of you highly."

"A lot of my friends," she said, "are my friends because I've helped them get revenge on people. Not all of them, admittedly. But funny how that works out."

"The desire for vengeance is one of man's more popular weaknesses."

She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Can you go back?" she said. "To being... a guide? A missionary? A teacher, to these tribes?"

He shrugged. "A man may be many things. A monster to his enemies. A devoted father to his children. A protector of his charges."

"He asked you something," she said, cautiously. "Didn't he? Before you shot him."

His blue eyes were piercing as he stared at her. "Salt-Upon-Wounds asked for mercy," he said quietly. "And I told him that I would show him the mercy that he had shown to my people."

The Courier narrowed her eyes. "Good," she said. "We don't need monsters like that ruling the wasteland."

"Just monsters like you or me?" he asked dryly.

"Still not sure about you." She grinned. "Don't make me come back here to sort you out."

He looked at her silently.

She turned to look back out over the river, the water sparkling in the afternoon light. Dead Horses were catching fish in the pools below them. "You like being out here? Away from civilisation?"

"I am beginning to think," he said. "That maybe this is a more fitting place for one such as myself. Moreso than what these people call the civilised lands would be."

She frowned. "For their protection or yours?"

"For either," he said. "For both. I am hardly ignorant of what I was. What I am."

She stood. "If someone hurt any of the people I love," she said quietly. "I would fucking _destroy _them."

He folded his arms and watched her, eyes clear and deep and burning.

"So hold on to that gun of yours" she said. "I think maybe one day I might have some use for someone like you."

"I'll do what I can," he said.

"Can't ask any more than that."

She heard his footsteps retreating, back to the cave. She looked over to her left, where a single white handprint had been pressed into the rock above an ancient, half-rotted duffel bag. She smiled sadly. "Just you and me now," she said, to the cave-dweller. "I'll track you down."

* * *

Raul followed the Courier across the river, cold and strong, that ran around their legs. Cass was back at camp, packing up the last few things that they'd need to take on the long road back to New Vegas.

"I think you've got a problem," he said.

"Fuck off," said the Courier. "I do not."

"It's an obsession," he said. "It's compulsive."

"It's not-" she stopped where she was in the river, hand on her hip and fish navigating around her ankles. "Well okay, it kind of is."

"You just can't stop yourself."

"I just want to know," she snapped. "If he fucking killed himself. Okay?"

Raul held up his hands in mock-surrender. "You're the boss."

"Fuck you. I saw one near here, I think-" she checked her pip-boy. "Yeah, just kind of up this way."

The white handprints along the cliff face looked like a flock of birds leaping into flight. The Courier clenched her fists.

The cave dipped down slowly, lit by pools of soft pink light from the cave mushrooms. She strode on, impatiently, but was yanked back by the collar of her armour just as the tunnel began to widen into a cavern. Raul pulled her down to the cave floor, and stretched an arm over her shoulder, pointing.

There was a spore plant, waving gently as if it were in the breeze. It raised its jaws, seeming to taste the air, fleshy stem twisting and turning. The Courier sighed, once again missing the sheer stopping power of the holo-rifle, and aimed her rifle. It took three bullets to sever the stem completely, and another three for each of the two other plants in the cave.

The beartraps hidden under dead dry branches or among the foliage of the cave were almost old-hat by this stage. A glint of metal here, a rusted metal tooth poking through there. She triggered them calmly and carefully, if a little impatiently.

The cavern's inhabitant had built a platform to keep the bed and living area off the cold stone floor. The Courier sat down at the computer and hit the login button. Raul came up to stand beside her, reading over her shoulder.

"He was here al-" she cleared her throat against the sob that was threatening to break through. "Almost fifty years. Longer than he was alive before - before the bombs fell. He just kept going. Though he didn't want to. I don't know if... if I understand?" she looked up at Raul.

"He kept going because it was the only thing he knew how to do," Raul said gruffly. "Are you happy now? No skeleton. He didn't die in here."

She looked away. One of the lines from his journal entries stuck in her head, somehow. _Thoughts of the beloved dead before dying_. He'd lost everyone he ever cared about, in global tragedies; tiny, local tragedies; mindless, stupid, hateful tragedies. _Beloved dead_. Trying to hold them close while the years between them slowly drifted further apart.

"So where did he die?" she asked quietly, almost petulantly.

Raul shrugged. "He's seventy. Eaten by lizards? Fell off a cliff? Maybe _the Principal_-" he gestured towards the terminal- "showed up and killed him?"

The Courier stared up at him balefully. "What's a principal?"

He sighed, seeming to lose some of his momentum. "They're the head of a school. You don't have them any more."

"She shrugged.

"Back then-" Raul began uncertainly, "things were different. Everything you knew was gone... everything that seemed permanent had been destroyed. No one really _thought_ about things, you just... tried to keep going. To find something normal in the ruins of the old world. To survive. That was what was important."

She looked back down at the platform the man had built. "Okay," she said quietly. "Let's just go."

"I'm sorry if you wanted a happier ending," said Raul as they left.

"Should be used to it by now," muttered the Courier. _Beloved dead_.

The sun was almost setting when they re-emerged into the light. Zion spread out below them, scarlet and gold in the dying light.

"Home, then," said the Courier, gazing out over it.

"In the morning," said Raul. "You need to catch up on your beauty sleep."

She snorted. "You're an asshole," she said, and started down the hill back to the camp.

* * *

The morning was clear and calm. Mist rose off the water as the small group stood outside the cave entrance. Follows-Chalk was with them, again, just to lead them out of the valley, and the four of them followed the scout as he led them up towards the mountains.

Follows-Chalk was excitable and talkative, and finally couldn't hold back any longer. "Do you think I could come to the civilised lands?"

The Courier grinned. "Sure thing! Show up in Vegas any time you like, I'll set you up with a room and some starter caps."

"And travel with a caravan," Cass said. "Safer."

"Will you come back to see us?"

Cass grinned. "Yeah. When I get the time. I get kind of busy, but I'll come back when the New Canaanites rebuild their city. To say hi."

The Courier smiled privately at Cass and Follows-Chalk. Fond memories of being stuck in a hole for weeks. Near an archway of red rock, she caught sight of a bundle of bones and rags, and she wandered off the path towards it. "Just be a second," she called to the others.

"You can't walk past a single thing without looting it," Cass said, rolling her eyes.

"See?" said Raul. "You've got a problem."

"Fuck of," said the Courier, laughing. "If I just ignored everything like you seem happy to do I wouldn't have any fucking stuff." She crouched next to the bones. "You think I fucking _pay _for _ammo_?"

"Not like you can't afford to," said Cass.

"This is how rich people stay rich," said the Courier, opening the tattered bag. "Stealing things from dead people." She threw a grin over her shoulder as she started going through its contents. "Rifle!" she exclaimed, holding it up. She pointed at Cass. "See, it's people like you, ignoring stuff like this, that means all this good stuff is still out there."

Raul lifted it from her hands gently. "I think the sights might be off a little," he said, squinting down the barrel. "Could probably fix that up for you."

"Thanks," she smiled, still going through the bag. She took out some stimpaks, a couple of boxes of ammo, ignored the cigarettes, and then, finally, her hand closed on a holotape. She frowned at it for a second, then slotted it into her pip-boy.

And stared.

"What's wrong?" asked Cass.

"It's the guy," she said, waving a hand distractedly. "The guy. Randall... Clark?"

"You okay?" Cass was looking at her dubiously.

The Courier looked up. "Yeah, I'm... it's okay. I mean, it's been two hundred years, I knew he wasn't..." She finished with a shrug.

She touched a pile of the small delicate bones of one of his hands carefully. "Hey," she breathed, then stopped, feeling almost foolish. She barely noticed Raul as he lifted her arm high enough for him to read the holotape on her pip-boy screen. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Sorry for what his life had been, sorry that every time he had a glimpse of happiness it had been taken away. Well. Almost.

"The kids became the Sorrows?" Raul asked quietly.

"I guess that's how tribes start," she said quietly.

"Life goes on," he said.

She nodded, wordlessly. Clark had carried his loved ones with him until he could no longer. The beloved dead. It was all he could do for them. She stood up, dusted herself off, and started to follow the others.

* * *

Raul and the Courier were the last two left awake over the fire. Raul was on watch, technically, and the Courier couldn't sleep. It seemed like the world outside the glowing circle of the fire was huge and dark and hateful.

"Do you lose a lot of people?" she asked. "Being alive for so long."

He gave her a tired smile. "Feels like it, sometimes. There's never enough time... with the people you love. With some, it's almost as if - if their life has passed in days." He shrugged, uncomfortable. "You see a lot of things, but... it seems like you lose a lot more. You get used to it, though." He smiled. "You don't think you'll get used to it. But you do."

The Courier poked at the fire with a twig. "What are you going to do once we get back?" she asked.

"I don't know. Probably not much call for an old man like me in a city like yours."

"Fuck off," she said. "Stop doing that, I'm sick of telling you off for it."

He waved a hand at her, dismissive.

"Seriously," she said. "You're a fucking badass. It's not like you're dead weight out here. _I'm_ more dead weight than you."

"It's not that," he said. "It's... the world. It's different to the one I grew up in. I don't really see a place for myself in your "New Vegas". I'm just - just an old man in a world that's moved on."

"So it's like an age thing?" she asked. "Because this guy-" she held up her pip-boy- "was like fucking seventy and still trying to - to help, where he could. Even though everyone he loved was dead, he just... kept going. Killing the plant people. Helping the kids to survive. And - fuck, Joshua-_fucking_-Graham got thrown off a cliff and now apparently divides his time between helping the tribes to survive and administering horrifying fucking executions. So, you know. You do what you can," she finished. "I'm pretty sure you told me that, actually."

He shook his head. "I used to have a store," he said, slowly. "Repairing things. Handyman stuff."

She smiled. "I can help you get set up if you're serious."

He laughed quietly. "I don't need your help, boss, I've been around a lot longer than you have. But - thanks. For offering."

She gave him a weak smile and returned to her sleeping bag. As she stared up at the brilliant starlit sky, she thought once more of the beloved dead. Charlotte, and Alex, and Sylvie, and the baby that didn't quite make it. And now Clark, as well. She'd carry all of them around with her, just as he'd had to. And she'd hold on to them almost as tightly as she held onto the people she loved today.


	26. All You Need's

In this chapter the Courier gets a name and I can't write smut so I give up :(

edit: LOL OOPS forgot to tidy this up properly

* * *

The Courier gasped as she reached the peak north of the city, overlooking the shimmering heat of the Mojave. She paused, one foot raised on a rock in front of her, and raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Spreading out below her on the plain, glittering in the sunlight, were rows upon rows of solar panels, enclosed in a large chain-link fence with heavily-chained metal gates.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

"That's new." Cass climbed up behind her. "Yours?"

She grinned. "No, I didn't – I didn't organise this. I told Benny that I'd thought of it, but… he must have done the rest himself."

"What a sweetheart." Cass said flatly. "Can we go now? I've been dreaming about a bath for weeks. With soap. And shampoo. Oh, god, shampoo." She started climbing carefully down the rocks.

The Courier couldn't stop staring. At the mountains to the west, rising into the clouds; the broken highways, with clouds of dust rising behind travelling parties; the golden plains of the wasteland; the wide flat expanse of her city as it spread out around the neon playground of the Strip.

"I _am_ getting paid for this, right boss?" Raul paused just behind her, squinting up at her against the light.

"Swank didn't organise that with you before you left?" She stepped down from the rock carefully.

"Sometimes people don't pay you once they got what they want," he said.

"Swank isn't like that."

"You'd be surprised how many people are 'like that', boss. 'Specially with people that look a little different, you know?" He shrugged.

The Courier frowned, uncomfortably aware of the privileges her status afforded her.

"You'll get paid," she said. "I'll take care of it."

"That's you all over, boss," he said. "Always looking out for the little guy."

"You better watch that mouth of yours," she said, but she was smiling. "I'll fund a rival mechanics store and drive you out of business before you've even started."

He laughed. "It's good to know I've got your support," he said, and she followed him as he began climbing down the hill to the city.

Her heart pounded harder and harder as they approached the city gates, and by the time she got to the Strip she felt like she was almost about to explode.

She gave the doorman a grin as opened the door to the Lucky 38.

The entrance of a large group of people into one of the busiest casinos on the Strip was hardly an unusual occurrence, but as people started to recognise the members of the party, heads began to turn.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice the attention. Everything was scarlet and golden and brightly-lit, Bing Crosby over the speakers barely audible over the sound of the crowd's raised voices.

She finally caught sight of Benny standing in one of the private areas across the floor. As she watched him, she saw one of the staff lean close to whisper in his ear.

She saw him mouth the words _Jesus motherfucking Christ_ and turn towards her. As he caught her eye, he inclined his head politely and raised his glass.

She began to move through the crowd towards him, mindful of her dust-covered armour in comparison to the spotless suits and gowns around her.

Benny put a hand on the small of her back and pulled her close enough to hear him over the music

"So," he said. "The prodigal daughter returns. I hope you enjoyed your… holiday." He raised an eyebrow. His hand lingered on her back.

"It was, uh, interesting," she said. "You miss me?"

"Always." He snagged a glass of wine off a passing waiter and handed it to her. "Your hair's getting long. It looks good on you. Feminine."

She narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I've been meaning to get that cut. So, uh, those solar panels out back…"

He smiled faintly. "Well, you told me about it a while ago. So I thought I'd give you something nice to come home to."

She grinned. "You're an angel. What's their output like?"

His smile faded. "Not as high as we'd like, to be honest." He pulled a cigarette from his inside jacket pocket. "Still," he said, lifting his lighter to the cigarette. "Bought us a little more time."

The Courier watched the flame dance and flicker, until the abrupt snap of the lid closing brought her back to the moment. "Yeah."

Benny lowered his voice and leaned even closer towards her, his lips almost brushing her ear. "Your, uh, gentleman friend is around somewhere." He pointed at her with the glowing end of his cigarette. "Further to that, angel, I don't believe he's in a good mood."

Of course he wasn't. She bit her lip. "Any idea where he is?"

"'Fraid not." He spread his arms wide. "If you'd like me to have someone bring him in, or, I guess, keep him away, just say the word."

She sighed. "I'll have someone go find him. Odds are he'll know I'm back in the next hour or so. If not already."

He gave her that familiar crooked grin. "You can't keep on running away like this, angel," he murmured. "What if one day you just left and never came back? If no one knows where you're going, or when you'll be back… Little girl like you could just get swallowed up by the big, bad wasteland. There are monsters out there, you know."

Something about the way he was smiling at her, almost predatory, proprietary, put her on edge. "Yeah, I do know. Met a few myself. Killed a few myself."

He laughed. "No, angel, I haven't forgotten how dangerous you are. Come find me to catch up after you're settled. We got some things to talk about. Business. You dig?"

"Sure," she said. His hand left her back, leaving a strange feeling of absence as the warmth faded away.

"Catch you later, dollface," he said, without looking back, and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

She knew she didn't have long before Boone heard she was back and came looking for her. She was almost panicking, caught between her excitement at being able to see him again and her dread about what he might say.

She threw open her wardrobe. The pink dress? The green dress? Her small collection of revealing nightgowns were probably not the best idea either. Vera's dress was almost tempting. She lifted the fabric, satin against her fingertips, touched the rose at the hip gently. But no. That wasn't right. She'd feel like she was playing a part, pretending to be someone far more mysterious and beautiful than she'd ever be. So it was just her comfortable, familiar armour, the leather stretched and worn until it fit just right.

The intercom crackled. "I believe you're expecting a Mr Boone?"

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm ready. Send him up."

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the penthouse. Her mind was racing, running through what she could say, how she could explain any of this.

She poured a glass of scotch to calm her nerves, drained it, then poured another.

The chime of the elevator as it reached her floor set her heart racing. She turned, slowly, to look up at the mezzanine floor overhanging the room.

Quiet footsteps echoed in the silence.

And then there he was, one hand on the balcony railing and his eyes still hidden behind sunglasses. His face was expressionless as he began to walk down the stairs.

"Hi," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I didn-"

He pulled her into a hug so tight it hurt, his fingertips digging into her flesh. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.

She couldn't speak, could barely breathe, as he held her, overwhelmed by his anger and the strength of his grasp and even his physical closeness. With him away so often, she wasn't used to being held.

"I'm sorry." It seemed inadequate. "I – how long have you been here?"

"A week? Less. I don't know," he said. "When the brass heard you'd gone missing, they pulled me in for questioning. Twelve hours later, they figured I didn't know jack, so they suggested I take some leave." His expression was bitter. "I didn't know if I should try to come after you. _No one _knew where you'd gone except one of the Chairmen, and 'north' was all I could get out of him."

"I had to find her," she said quietly. "I couldn't leave Cass out there. I'd do that for any of my friends."

He sighed. "Yeah," he said, stepping back. "I know. And now everyone else does, too." He ran his thumb over a stray lock of her hair. "That's how your enemies are going to try to get to you. If they can't get to you, they go through your friends. Through us."

She felt like she'd had a bucket of cold water dumped over her head. She sat there silent, staring. How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so stupid? She'd put everyone she loved into danger. She looked down at the ground, ashamed.

"Hey." He caught her chin, raised it until he was looking into her eyes. "Listen." He looked at her, eyes full of concern. "You need to think before you do things like this."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "If I-" he began hesitantly, but he cut it short with an exasperated exhale. "If something happened to you," he said, haltingly, fighting to keep his voice steady. "And I wasn't here to help you, I – I don't know what I – if I-" He looked away, jaw clenched. "I can't be here, all the time, in case something happens. I need you to be safe. I need to know that you're okay. That you're going to be okay." He looked at her, guardedly.

"I don't think I can be safe here all the time," she said slowly. "It's not safe anywhere. And I can't just – just hide from everything. I'd end up being like House, barricaded away in a secret room, out of touch with how things actually are. I can't do that. You knew what I was when we started this."

He sighed. "And you knew what I was when you started it."

She looked at him, confused and hurt. It did made sense, although she hated to admit it. He wanted – _needed_ stability. A woman to care for and look after, and who'd be there for him no matter what. Not some foolish flighty _girl_ who rushed into danger at the slightest hint of an adventure.

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" she asked quietly, smiling sickly.

"Told you it wouldn't."

She laughed, despite the sensation of standing at the edge of a chasm that was slowly widening. "Bet this isn't how you thought it'd be, though," she said, her voice hollow. "When you said that the first time."

She stood up and made her way to the counter. Her hands shook as she poured scotch into two glasses, and her footsteps echoed loud in her ears as she walked back to the sofa.

Boone took one from her gently, and swallowed half of it in one gulp. "No," he admitted. "Can't say this is really what I was expecting." He looked out the window, the neon glow of the city, the moonlit horizon. She watched the line of his throat, adams apple bobbing, as he took another swallow. Her mouth was dry.

"You don't stop loving people after they've died, do you?" she asked bluntly, almost having to force the words out.

His brow creased faintly. She had to look away from the intensity of his gaze.

"No," he said, finally. "No, you don't."

She nodded, like she'd known it all along. In a way she had, though. She'd always known that she couldn't replace her. Carla. Always a pale shadow, after the loss of the love of his life.

"I always wanted..." Her voice cracked, and she stopped, staring down at her hands resting limply in her lap. He turned to look at her, eyes soft and questioning.

She felt like she was drowning, reaching out for something, anything to cling to. "I always – always wanted to make…" She could feel her skin flushing under his gaze, heat rising from her chest right up to the roots of her hair. She tried to start again, staring at the floor between her feet. "When you told me about what happened to you – and to Carla – I wanted to make it so that couldn't happen to anyone else ever again. I wanted to make you a world where you couldn't get hurt like that ever again."

She jumped as his hand touched her face, cool against her flushed skin. She looked across at him as he reached out to her, his eyes

"You're my compass," she said, almost a whisper.

And then he was closing the gap on the sofa between them, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close.

"Verity," he said. She tensed. Her name sounded strange from his lips. He pulled her head gently towards him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Verity," he said again, gently. She looked up. "Just because there's - just because Carla will always be-" his voice grew rough, and he cleared his throat – "be important to me – it doesn't mean there's no room for anyone else. For you."

"Craig-" she began, but he cut her off, pressing a thumb to her lips gently.

"Let's leave it for tonight," he said. "It's getting late."

The clock on the wall showed a quarter to one. Not _late_, exactly, not for Vegas, but she'd been walking for a week and felt drained by the confrontation.

She nodded. "Are you staying here?" she asked uncertainly.

"If you want me to."

"Yes," she said quickly. "Please."

He smiled, gently, the flicker of white teeth somehow making her desperately sad at the possibility of one day never being able to see it again.

She stood and began to unbuckle her armour

She felt a hand brush against the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. She smiled, but didn't turn around as he unhooked her belt, fingers grazing her hips. He turned her around, gently but firmly, and bent to kiss her. She leaned into him.

"Is this-" she began.

"Shh."

She let one of her hands trail from his chest down to his hip.

It wouldn't last. It _couldn't _last. But for tonight, at least, it didn't matter. They were just two people, clinging to each other because that's all they had left to hold on to.


	27. A Strong Heart

Sorry for the wait :) it's been a tough fortnight(?). Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, I couldn't do it without you.

* * *

"Are you actually listening at all, angel?" Benny leaned forward, both hands on the table in front of her. She looked up, dully, from her seat, slumped at a table in a quiet corner of the cocktail lounge.

"Of course I am. "Something about… a bishop?" She waved a hand.

"Bishops." Benny rolled his eyes. "Plural. As in "the Bishops". Or, "the Bishop family", if you would so prefer."

"What about them?" She folded her arms.

He sighed. "They would like very much like to set up a studio here. Honestly, baby, you don't seem completely checked in, here. Something on your mind?"

She ignored his question. "What sort of studio?" she asked, looking up. "I've heard some things about the Bishops."

"A film studio."

"Yeah, I got that much. What kind of films we talking? _Adult_ films?"

"I didn't ask." He shrugged. "But you know it's a moneyspinner, baby. And if the Bishops are engaging with us, it means they're losing their faith in the NCR ever getting their hands on Vegas." He grinned. "And that's nothing but good news for us."

Verity looked down at her nails, bitten to stubs. "Are they going to try to strong-arm us? I'd be a little concerned about them trying to play us off against the NCR."

Benny shook his head. "Nah, getting set up here is going to set them back a fair way. They're not the type to move in without a profit to be made. Good business types. You know."

"If you say so," she said, half-heartedly. "I guess as long as the, uh, talent is treated okay, we don't really have grounds to keep them out. "

"What's up with you, kid?" he asked. "I hate to see you so down."

She looked up at him, cautiously. She was never sure whether he was being sincere or not. "Nothing. Fine. I'm always like this." She shrugged, trying to shake off his scrutiny. "Who's the sidekick?" she asked. "Out of us two. Am I your sidekick or are you mine?"

Benny straightened his tie. "I would have thought that was obvious," he said. "You're a delivery girl. I've been running this joint since day one."

"Oh yeah," she said, half-closing her eyes. "You were doing a swell job at that when I ran into you at the Fort, weren't you? All credit for trying, though."

Benny laughed. "Credit where it's due indeed," he said. "You took a couple of king hits that fight. Surprised you managed to get up on your own."

"I kind of don't really remember it." She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Concussion'll do that to ya."

"Still don't know what the _fuck_ I was thinking. Jesus. It seems so long ago."

He smiled. "Lot can happen in a year." He lit a cigarette.

"Lot can happen in a week," she said, gloomily. "How's the city been? Much trouble?"

He didn't answer immediately, instead looking down at the lighter in his hands. He flicked it open, staring at the flame, before flipping it shut again. "We've had some… trouble in Freeside. Maybe just kids being kids, but – there was some trouble. Couple of the Kings got tore up pretty bad, but they gave as much as they got."

"Shit," she said. "What'd you do?"

"Sent the securitrons in." He sighed. "Got things settled down, but it could have gone better."

"Guess I'll head down in a bit," she said.

Benny raised an eyebrow. "Could get a little rough down there, sister."

"I'm a little rough myself." She grinned. "I'll take bodyguards. Or something."

"Your funeral."

She shrugged irritably. "What else did you want to tell me about? The solar panels? How are they doing?"

"Good," he said. "Contributing. We're still having trouble with the supply, though." He leaned back against the wall behind him and looked down at her.

Her heart sank. "What can we do?" she asked.

The lighter snapped shut in his hand. "Only one thing we can do," he said. "We need the Dam. Not today, but… soon."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "Oh, Christ. There's no way out of it, is there? _Is there_?" She looked up at Benny, hope fading.

"If there is, I haven't thought of it yet," he said, with a rueful twist of his lip. "You know, you've come through on a hell of a lot of things, but I don't know that even you can solve this one."

She looked down into her glass, watching the glow of the amber liquid in the fluorescent light.

"Least we got the robots," he said. "They should be able to put any unrest down quickly."

She dragged her gaze back up. "Yeah. We _can_ win, it's just – what we have to do in order to actually get there."

"Sure," he said. "If you say so, kid." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Just watch your back." He crushed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

* * *

She switched on Yes Man's terminal and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. The green lines of text on the loading screen rolled up slowly.

"Good afternoon!"

She gritted her teeth at the sheer cheerfulness of his voice.

"I can't help but notice that it's been an awful long time since we spoke last," he continued. "Boy, I hope you're not going to ask me to fix some terrible mistake of yours."

"Everything's fine," she said. "We got those solar panels up."

"And how much power are you getting out of them?" he asked. She glared at the smug smile on the screen. "I think you'll find that a city like New Vegas is awfully thirsty."

"Not as much as we would have liked," she said, quietly. "But enough."

"Enough _for now_, am I right? As long as your energy needs stay the same and the NCR cooperates, am I right? Zero growth only?"

She was silent.

"Would it be that hard to set me up with a video camera?" he asked. "I really do hate having to guess at what sort of non-verbal communication is going on here."

She watched the screen, the unblinking, unmoving face. She hated to admit it, but he really was useful. And the only entity capable of managing the entirety of the data that House had left behind him.

"I'm going to have Emily give you limited access back to the network," she said at last. "So you can see things but not change them."

"Really?" the electronic voice was tinted with surprise.

"Yes, really," she said irritably. "Don't be an asshole about it."

"Who was being an asshole? You know, you are _very _sensitive about some things."

She watched the monitor in silence. She had the sudden sensation of twirling like a spinning top, teetering wildly, almost out of control. She clenched her fists, trying to force her racing heart to slow down through sheer willpower.

"Are you still there? It's not very nice to leave without saying goodbye."

"Still here," she said wearily. "I'll get Emily to come see you soon." She switched off the computer and leaned back in her chair. The blank screen wasn't much of an improvement over the smiling face, and she grabbed a fistful of her own hair and tugged at it, frustrated.

"Everything okay?"

She looked up, startled, not used to being interrupted at her desk. She spun the chair around, using her hands to push against the desk, feet still pulled up in front of her.

"Hello." She smiled up at Boone. "Just a few things to sort out."

"You were away for a while," he said. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

He seemed to be saying 'why haven't you told me about it already?', but that was a conversation she hadn't figured out how to have yet. Her smile faded. "Look, I've gotta go talk to some people," she said.

"Want me to tag along?" he asked. "Or can you take care of yourself now?"

She winced at the undercurrent of bitterness in his tone.

"If-" she began, but broke off, cleared her throat, and started again. "If you did want to come with me, I'd… I'd appreciate it," she said, a little uncomfortably. "I think I'm gonna have to talk to some people who aren't too happy with how things are at the moment. So… yeah. If you'd come along… watch my back… I'd be grateful."

She looked up into her reflection in his sunglasses.

"Of course," he said. "Just say the word."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you," she said. "I know this isn't-"

"Don't-" he said, cutting her off. "Just don't. You don't need to."

She looked down. "Alright," she said, standing. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened the doors. "So," she began, folding her red suit carefully over her arm. "I'm going to go talk to the King, see if he can tell me about anything going on in Freeside right now." She stepped carefully into her skirt and buttoned it. "Then I think I'll go to the Fort-" she tucked her blouse into the waistband of the skirt, "- talk to Arcade, Julie, anyone who'll give me the time of day."

She stepped into her heels, and by the time she turned round her face was calm and impassive. "Are you ready to leave?" she asked.

"After you."

She hit the button for the elevator.

* * *

Rex barked at her as she walked into the King's office, and she had to hold her arms out to stop him jumping up on her.

"Hey, boy," she said, adjusting her skirt so she could crouch properly. "How's your brain?" She scratched his head. The brain in the glowing gel seemed to look okay, but the old brain hadn't looked that bad to her either. She shrugged. He still seemed more active.

"Always a pleasure to see you, ma'am," said the King.

She blushed. "I was, uh, wondering if you could maybe, um, give me a – I mean, help me with a thing. Problem. That I have." She could feel her cheeks burning, even more so now that she apparently couldn't string a sentence together. She didn't dare look over to Boone.

"I'll do whatever I can."

She took a deep breath. Think before speaking. "I've heard that there's been some trouble while I've been away."

The King's gentle smile faded a little. "Nothin' worth you worrying yourself about. I'm sure you've got plenty on your plate as it is."

"I was just – uh, just wondering," she continued, "if you had any information about the main players. I just want to get this sorted out before anyone gets killed."

"I don't think I can help you, ma'am," said the King, leaning back in his chair. "I've been out of Freeside an awful long time, I simply don't have the connections."

She folded her arms. It was a lie. He was lying directly to her face. She knew it, and he knew _she _knew it, and he also knew she couldn't do a damn thing about it. Calling him on it, as tempting as that seemed, would screw her in the long run. She needed him on-side.

"I see," she said slowly. "I heard some of your men were hurt in the most recent scuffle; I hope none seriously."

He gave her a smile that was wry, but genuine, and made her heart skip a beat. She clenched her teeth together and smiled mechanically back.

"No ma'am, we managed to patch up our boys fine," he said. "Just some high spirits and short tempers, nothing more than that."

"I'm gonna go down there," she said carefully. "See if I can get things sorted out."

His brow creased. "Oh, I wouldn't advise that, ma'am, it's – well, Freeside's not always a safe place. And things tend to take care of themselves, in time. This isn't something that can be handled with force."

"I'm not planning on going in shooting." She stood. "Thanks for your time."

The sun outside was merciless as they walked through Freeside. Verity wriggled out of her jacket. How had Benny ever managed to keep his on all the time? Hers was only linen, but his was some sort of wool blend that must have been suffocatingly hot. Fine for the Strip, but take one step out of the air-conditioned buildings and you were burning up.

She noticed the eyes of the people on the streets start to follow her. Normally this wouldn't have phased her, and she might even have enjoyed the attention, but her feet weren't used to walking in heels again. She had to concentrate so that she wouldn't step out of them or let her stiletto heel get caught in a crack in the road, and her feet were beginning to ache from the height already. Not for the first time, she thought about snapping the heels off and leaving them in the middle of the street, but Benny was right – it was about image. You had to project an appearance of being calm and in control. But it was goddamn uncomfortable.

It was with an almighty bad temper that she arrived at the Fort. She pushed past the guards with barely a word and went looking for anyone who might tell her something useful. They found Julie, eventually, in the hospital area, checking a clipboard at the end of a patient's bed. She didn't look happy to see them.

"Hey," she said, picking the clipboard up and shuffling them out of the room and into the narrow corridor outside. "What can I help you with?"

"Morning," said Verity. "I hear things have been a little rough around here lately."

Julie sighed. "Yeah, we've been having some trouble." She rubbed her forehead angrily. "We've been having meds shipments held up for weeks. Usually at least some of our stuff gets through, but lately they just haven't been turning up."

"Is that what this trouble's been about?" she asked.

Julie looked up. "What?" she asked, distracted. "Oh, no. No, this last one was because – well, mostly – because of the sharecroppers. Apparently the NCR aren't paying them what they promised because of the reduction in troops out here, and the ones that have stayed either struggle along with what they've got or come to town to find work and pick fights with the locals."

"The NCR screwing people over. That's a new one," said Verity.

"Who's involved?" asked Boone, impatient. "Names, hideouts, anything?"

Julie turned to look at him, tapping her pen against her teeth. "Kid called Stark," she said finally, turning back to her clipboard. "He's mostly the one stirring up people in town. Can't speak for the sharecroppers though."

"Thanks," said Verity. "Any idea of where I can find him?"

Julie sighed. "You know the building opposite the Silver Rush that leads to the railroad tracks?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, so through that, turn left, and round to the railroad tracks. Should be people outside." Julie watched her critically. "He has a lot of anger," she said, quietly. "Watch yourself."

"I'll take care," she said. "Thanks for your help."

She led the way grimly, the heels of her shoes clicking against the concrete. She walked with one hand on the pistol at her hip. She knew that confronting anyone in this type of mood, anxious and irritable, was probably a bad idea, but pushed on anyway.

She felt a hand on her back, and suddenly Boone was walking next to her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Don't turn around," he said. "We're being followed."

She tensed, but didn't break her stride. "How many?"

He frowned. "Maybe ten. Think more keep joining, though."

She turned her head slightly, trying to use her peripheral vision to see behind her. They were entering a slightly narrower street. The walls on either side seemed to close in on them.

"Subtle," said Boone.

She glared. "Well what the fuck are we meant to do?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Up to you. Confront them or keep going."

They passed the Silver Rush. This end of town seemed to be deathly quiet, empty except for the group of people following them. The street was practically an alleyway, now, and she didn't want to get caught in the middle of the building.

"Fucking _what_?" she snarled, rounding on them. There was a group of almost twenty, now, carrying mostly shotguns and wearing leather armour. She was uncomfortably aware of how little protection that her suit gave her.

The man leading the pack took a step back in surprise, but quickly regained his composure. "Why don't you come with us?" he said. "We heard you been asking around about a friend of ours'."

"Okay," she said. "Surely there's a less creepy way to get me to come with you."

"The crowd's mostly so you'd agree to hand your weapons over," he admitted, smiling.

"No," she snapped. "Not going to happen." She heard Boone shift uneasily behind her. "You wanna turn this into a shootout right now?" she asked. "Be my guest. How many of you would like to die today?"

His eyes widened. "Uh-" he began.

"I'm willing to come peacefully if your friend wants a meeting," she continued. She put a hand on her hip. "Just to talk. If you try and take our guns, this is not going to be a talking meeting, it's going to be a killing meeting. Do you understand?"

"Um. Okay," he said.

"Well, let's go then," she said, turning back. "I believe it's this way," she said, and strode off without looking back.


	28. And a Nerve of Steel

I actually owe Short Ninja a really overdue thank you for helping me think up names for my courier! I'd forgotten until now because I have no manners.

And thanks (again) for your reviews, I'm frequently just blown away by how nice they are. I love you all!

* * *

"You know what you're doing?" Boone's low voice was tense behind her.

"Don't I always?" she turned back with a grin, but the glare heshot her made her swallow it."We'll be fine. Just a meeting. A cordial meeting. With enforced cordialness. Guns all round tends to do that."

"We're heavily outnumbered. Only one of them has to get lucky and this is all over." He was bristling, carrying his rifle loose, unslung from his shoulder, ready to use.

"Two of them," she corrected. "And we're better armed. Technically. Better guns, better bullets, better maintenance – that reminds me, did I tell you Raul's back in town? Swank hired him to come look for Cass with me, and he was actually really-"

"No." He cut her off tersely. "You didn't tell me. Because you really haven't told me anything about what happened to you at all."

"When we're done here," she said. "I'll tell you about it. All about it. Some of it's kind of messed up."

He looked back at the pack following them. "Christ," he said, almost under his breath. He turned back. "Just – don't try to make this guy angry, alright?"

"Would I do that?" She touched him on the arm lightly with her free hand, but he shook it off.

"I'm serious," he growled. "Listen. You're in a vulnerable position here, and you're not acting like it. That's going to put him on edge."

She paused on the railroad tracks, one foot on the steel rail. "I'll behave. You know I do this for a job, right?" She raised an eyebrow. "More or less."

"I know what you're like," he said. "You're stubborn as hell and get mad at anyone who stands in your way." He cast an uncomfortable glance back at the group behind them, the building in front, the wide empty spaces around them. "Just saying. Don't walk in like you've won already."

She frowned. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. That's – alright. Thanks."

"You scare the hell out of me sometimes," he said, watching the piles of junk around the clearing – tyres, sheets of metal, old furniture – that anyone could hide behind.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm." He turned towards her. "You don't seem to get it," he said. "It only takes one bullet. Just one lucky shot."

She looked up at him, not quite knowing what to say. He was right. And she couldn't even claim to be trying to be careful and not take unnecessary risks. "Do you want me to start wearing power armour everywhere?" she asked. "I'm not very good at walking in it."

It had been completely the wrong thing to say. He seemed to close off. "No," he said. "No, you don't need to do that. Let's finish this up and get out of here."

She forced a smile. "Okay."

She turned back to the group behind them. "Which building?" she called.

There was a muffled conversation, and then one person emerged from the crowd. "It's the, uh, big one. The old station building," he said, coming towards them. "With the fire outside. We'll go in first."

"No, that's fine," said Verity. "I don't need anyone to hold the door for me. Thanks for offering, though." She shot a smile over her shoulder and began walking towards the door.

She tapped twice on the door with the barrel of her gun as she opened it, and stepped inside before anyone could reply.

The room was dark and dusty, window frames boarded up with only a few chinks of light shining through.

There was a man sitting on a rickety chair, legs propped up on the table in front of him. He was young, barely out of his teens, with curly blonde hair and intense blue eyes. He was wearing a red leather jacket and jeans, and carefully rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

He froze when he saw her, then dropped his legs to the floor. "If you're looking for trouble," he said carefully. "You came to the right place."

The men started to file in through the front door. The young man watched them critically. "You know what? Take a hike," he said. "If you folks can't handle two people, I don't think I'm going to need you here." He waved away the crowd.

"So," said Verity, pistol in hand and eyes glittering. "This is your big opportunity. What's on your mind, sport?"

She heard Boone sigh behind her.

Stark flashed her an angry glare. "_New Vegas_is on my mind. Even if it's not on yours."

"Everything I do is for this city," she said coolly.

"Like disappearing every few months? Yeah, that's great leadership. You sit up there in your tower and you don't give a damn about the people who have to live here." He advanced on her. "You're tearing the city apart!" He was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face.

"Back. Off." Boone's low growl sent a chill down her spine. Stark snapped his head around to look at him, barely seeming to remember him being there, then turned away, eyes angry and desperate.

She tucked her pistol into the waistband of her skirt. "Are you one of the King's boys?" she asked.

"Used to be," he said quietly. "Before he sold us out for life on the Strip. Still owes me a favour, though."

She smirked bitterly. "My advice is hold onto that favour until you really need it."

"Being a King used to mean something." He seemed almost to be pleading. "We used to make a difference. Now we- we're entertainers. We're the amusement. We're nothing. We used to run this damn city before you showed up. You took _everything_ from us."

"And you took things from everyone else," she snapped. "Don't try and pretend that the Kings were some group of civic-minded individuals who only wanted to help out. You were a group of petty thugs who charged people for someone else's water."

"We were the law in this town," he said through clenched teeth. "And we were goddamn necessary."

"Yeah, with House in charge, you were necessary. House didn't give a shit about Freeside or anyone in it."

"And you do?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" she asked wearily. "You wanna tell me about the sharecroppers? I hear you're having some trouble."

"They're parasites," he spat. "They can't feed off the NCR anymore so they've found an easier target."

"Do you know why?" she asked.

He snorted derisively. "I've never sat down with one and asked them about their problems," he said. "They come to town with no money and a bad attitude. I do most of my talking to them with my fists."

Verity leaned against a desk, frowning. The lessened NCR presence in the area would have led to less need to feed huge numbers of people, and the sharecroppers must have taken the worst hit. "So the NCR screws over their own," she said, out loud. "What a surprise."

Stark glared at her. "You're the reason this is all happening. You sold us to the NCR. You sold us for security, for your peace of mind, and you don't see what's happening because you live in a goddamn fantasy playground." He held out his hands. "And hey, I don't blame you. Must be nice to live in a world where there's no rape or murder or anyone trying to roll you for a snack cake. You keep the caps rolling and the booze flowing and that's where your involvement ends."

"You have no idea what I do for this city," she said.

"You're goddamn right I don't. Who the hell does? Look at what Benny does while you're away. You have no idea what's actually going on in 'your' city."

"Is this about the securitrons?" she asked, folding her arms. "Why don't you tell me about that?"

"What's to tell?" His eyes were bright and fierce. "Someone starts something, there's a scuffle, some asshole sends in a bunch of robots to shoot lasers at us until the problem goes away. You're ruling by fear. Just because you hear what people have to say before you tell them what you're going to do doesn't mean you listen to them. You do what you want, and we like it or the securitrons could cut us all down where we stand. We know we have no chance, no one is prepared to throw their life away for nothing."

She sighed. "I see."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you now?" he exclaimed. "Do you really? You know, that really makes me feel a lot better about this whole thing, thanks for coming down."

She laced her fingers together, more to stop herself from reaching for her pistol than anything else. Her eyes narrowed. "You taken a shot or two at me before, kid?"

"Kid." He grinned savagely. "Kid? What right do you have to call me 'kid'?" He thrust his hands into his pockets. "Maybe I have," he said. "Don't seem to have bothered you any."

Boone took a step forward.

Stark sneered. "Call your dog off."

She bit back the threat on her lips, looked over at Boone, and gave him the faintest of smiles.

"What do you want, Stark?" she asked.

"I don't need anything from _you_."

"It wasn't an offer," she said. "Or a bribe, or anything else like that to get you out of my hair. It was a question. What do you want? I'm listening. You think you'll get a chance like this again? Say your piece."

The question seemed to have surprised him. "I - I want this to be the city it could be," he began hesitantly. "Not the city it is now, or even how it used to be. It could be something great, and I-" he faltered. "I don't want to just let it go. Vegas deserves better."

She watched him. Young and earnest and thinking he could change the world. It was funny, really. It'd been probably a matter of months since she'd felt the exact same way. Less cynical, less tired, less sick of everyone and their unfixable fucking problems.

"Alright," she said. "Stay in touch." She pushed herself off the desk.

"How?" he asked. "You think I can afford the credit check?"

"Don't try that shit with me." She paused at the door. "The King's got his passport system, you think I'd have forgotten?"

He gave her a grin that was mostly sneer. "Nice talkin' with you."

"Yeah, same to you, sunshine." She let the door slam behind her.

The group of men had mostly dispersed, and the few members who were hanging around wouldn't meet her eyes. She stalked off, back to the relative safety of the inner streets of Freeside.

"That went well," Boone said.

She looked at him sideways at him, but he was unreadable as always. "Are you being serious?"

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. "Yeah. Wasn't expecting to get out of there without at least one of you shooting."

"I was tempted," she muttered.

"I know."

She gave him a sly grin. "See, I can behave myself."

"Yeah. Sometimes. So, how about you tell me about your trip up north?" His words were casual, but his tone had a steely undercurrent.

"Oh, fuck," she said. "It's a weird fucking story." She contemplated prefacing the story with the words 'don't be mad', but doubted that it would help the situation much.

"Not surprised," he said. "Most of your stories start out that way."

Verity screwed her eyes shut. "Okay, so," she began. "Um, I went out to find Cass, with Raul and a guy with a minigun, and, uh, when I finally did, she was trapped in a cave with a bunch of tribals by this different group of tribals who wanted to join the Legion."

Boone turned his head. "They wanted to what?"

"Yeah, I guess they didn't get the news because they kill anyone who comes near them." She shrugged. "Anyway, we killed them and went home." She grinned up at him hopefully.

He walked on, face blank. "If that's all you want to tell me, that's fine."

"Well-" she sighed, her heart sinking. There was no way that telling this story could end well. She looked around. The street was deserted. "Alright. So. The tribe that had everyone pinned down had just destroyed New Canaan, right?"

It was a moment before Boone answered. "Okay," he said guardedly.

"So, there were a handful of survivors in a different cave. And you know how they're quite religious?"

"Mormon," supplied Boone.

"Yeah," she said. "So they're really into forgiving people, even if they've done really terrible things. Like, horrible things. They give them second chances and then God judges them when they die or something."

Boone stopped. "Terrible things like _what_?" he asked, wariness creeping into his voice.

She looked up at him nervously. "Maybe – um, okay, how about used to be in the Legion?"

"Are you trying to tell me," he asked. "That Joshua Graham- was there? Still alive, and stuck in this cave?"

"Yes," she said, carefully.

He took his sunglasses off to look at her properly. "What in the goddamn hell?" he asked.

"Tell me about it," she said. "He's a missionary now. I didn't get it either."

"And you – what, decided to just go along with him?" Boone's eyes were incredulous.

She couldn't hold back a bitter laugh. "Not really. I told him he was an asshole and a murderer and the fact he was still alive made the world a worse place. But-" she sighed –"yeah. I helped him so that we'd all get out of there alive. It wasn't easy to justify to myself, but ultimately it's what I had to do."

"Do you know how many people he's killed? How many lives he's destroyed?"

"Yes," she snapped. "If there had been another way, I would have taken it. I couldn't kill him because then the tribals would have killed me. If you want to go back and do it, be my guest."

He looked at her for a long time, silently. "Anything else?" he asked, finally. She couldn't tell what he was feeling.

She had a sudden flash of imagination of Cass inadvertently making some kind of reference. Leaving things out at this point would only make things worse. "Uh, yeah. There was one more thing. I do want to say, first, though, that they didn't do anything to me. Like, nothing."

Boone's brow furrowed.

"I was, very briefly," she said, tentatively. "Captured by this gang called the 80s. They took my holorifle."

He stared at her. The silence drew out between them.

"The 80s," he said, finally.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Okay," he said, after a moment. He rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't – Jesus Christ. I don't think I'm okay with this."

"I wasn't that okay with it either," she began, but he cut her off.

"No-" he said. "With- with you just taking off like that. Without thinking about anything, the city or your safety, or – the people who care about you."

"I'm sorry." She sighed in frustration. "But I didn't have a choice-"

"Yes, you did," he said, through clenched teeth. "You have considerable resources. You didn't need to go yourself."

She turned her face away from the intensity of his glare, but he reached out a hand gently and threaded his fingers through her hair behind her head, lifting her face up towards him. "You need to listen to me. A lot of people depend on you."

"So stay with me," she said, hating the sulkiness in her voice. "Keep me safe."

He sighed. "Are you really asking me?"

"No," she admitted. "I want you to, though."

He rubbed a thumb over her cheek gently. "Verity," he said. "I need you to be safe. I need it. If something happens to you, and I'm not there to help you… I don't – don't know what I-" he broke off.

She looked down. She felt like a child being told off. "I'm sorry."

He lifted her face again until his eyes met her own. "If you leave like this again," he said. "I'm not going to be here when waiting for you when you get back. It's not fair."

"I'm sorry," she said again, quieter this time.

He pulled her into a fierce hug. She could hear his heartbeat in his chest, and the rumble of his words as he spoke. "Don't be sorry," he said. "Just be _careful_."

He let her go, slowly, a little at a time as if he were reluctant. "Come on," he said. "Getting you back somewhere safe."

He followed her just one step behind, as they walked all the way back to the Strip.


	29. Viva Las Vegas, With Your

Because Veronica deserves some better endings.

Also Lonesome Road in a week :( I don't want to run out of story DLC!

Edit: WHOOPS you didn't see that

* * *

There were eight files on the desk in front of her. Eight files for eight people, each detailing one of the eight potential candidates to take on the role of head of the police.

The files weren't particularly well put-together, mostly hand-written notes of reference, hastily-summarised notes about roles and responsibilities, a handful of service records, all with the King's scrawling annotations of approval all over them.

The words started fading into a grey sludge.

The buzz of the intercom made her sit bolt upright. She blinked muzzily. "What?" she asked.

"Hey!" the voice on the other end sounded like Veronica. "Wanna get really drunk?"

"Ronnie, you're meant to let reception call me," she said mildly, picturing Veronica leaning over the reception desk, feet off the ground and holding the receiver to her ear.

"Aww, she said it was fine," Veronica said. "So, up for it? I brought some booze."

"Who am I to turn down an offer like that?" she asked. "Come on up."

Veronica was in disguise, which meant she was wearing a heavy brown leather jacket and jeans, and a baseball cap pulled down low to hide her face. There was a bottle of scotch in her hand, which she handed to Verity proudly. "I figure, since we always end up drinking your alcohol, I should bring something myself once in a while."

Verity grinned. "I think I could be drunk literally all the time for the rest of my life and never get through all the bottles in this building," she said. "But thanks!"

She filled two glasses with ice from the fridge, and poured the scotch over the top. Veronica took one from her and gulped it down. Verity shrugged, followed suit, and filled the glasses again.

"So," said Veronica. "What are you up to tonight?"

Verity rolled her eyes ."I have to narrow these eight-" she gestured to the pile that she'd left on the low table in front of the couch –"down to two. Maybe three. They need to be someone trustworthy, that people can respect and rely on."

"I think," said Veronica. "That we should tape them all up to the wall and throw darts at them. Easiest selection method ever."

"I don't have any darts," Verity said sadly. "I guess we could shoot lasers. But that might burn the whole lot and then I still wouldn't know."

Veronica sat down on the couch and lifted her feet onto the table. "Well then, make Primm Slim do it. Best thing you ever did for that town."

Verity grinned. "Robots solve everything! Except the problem of 'too many robots'."

Veronica leaned over. "Do they have photos? If they had photos I could tell you which one to pick. I've got a good eye for people's faces."

"You'd just pick the prettiest."

"I would not," she said. "You can't say that, it's defamation. You can go to jail for that."

"We don't _have _a jail," Verity grumbled. "All we have is a hastily-repurposed building which doesn't have locks on it yet."

"You could just ask people nicely not to leave the building. Honour code. I'm sure it'll work."

Verity shuffled over to give Veronica more space on the couch.

Verity sighed. "They're all good. I like-" she rifled through the folders –"this one. Stella. Doesn't give a last name. Did some sheriffing up north. And this one too – uh, Nikki Darkwater, from some place out west. Seems like her whole family's in the law business."

"Solved!" Veronica took the files out of her hands and dropped them on the table. "So what now?"

"We get really drunk?" Verity's brow crinkled.

"Good plan!" she refilled the glasses. "But I meant with your sheriffs."

"Oh. We bring them in for interviews. It's a long trip for a lot of them, though I'll probably end up hiring most of these people in one job or another. You just have to get the right person for the right job, you know?"

"Why don't you make Boone do it? He likes shooting things. Perfect police material."

Verity frowned. "I don't think he likes telling people what to do. It's a lot of responsibility, and he – I don't know. He likes things to be simple. And he second-guesses himself a lot, though he's getting better about it. I don't think he'd… trust himself to do it. If that makes sense." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Plus Arcade says I'm not allowed to just hire my friends to do everything. It 'erodes trust in the legitimacy of the regime' apparently."

"I guess that makes sense. It's not really that democratic to just nepotism all over the place. Where is Boone tonight, anyway? Off dancing?"

Verity sighed. "He has to check in with the embassy down on the Strip quite a lot so they know I haven't brainwashed him or something. It's hard to… balance." She shrugged. "Harder for him, though, I guess. I'm a security risk."

Veronica tilted her head enquiringly. "Things going okay?"

"Things are… weird." Verity looked down at her nails. "I don't think – I don't think our lives go that well together. Two different worlds, you know?" She looked up. "Plus he doesn't want me to go adventuring any more. Which is, honestly, probably a fair call. I just get bored."

Veronica raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning on doing after this?" she asked slowly. "Like, after you step down or whatever."

"Ugh." Verity shuddered. "I've been trying not to think about it. I don't even know. Start accepting delivery orders again?"

"So, no plans to settle down?"

Verity grinned. "You gonna make an honest woman of me?"

Veronica touched her fingers to her lips. "Not me."

The smile on Verity's face faded. "Oh. _Oh_. You mean… you think…"

"I'd be surprised if he wasn't – you know. Planning on settling down somewhere. I always picture him, like, on a farm. Getting old sitting on the front porch in a rocking chair with a rifle to shoot at geckos, or I guess 'those damn kids who keep getting onto his lawn'. "

Verity stared. "That's very… detailed."

"I have a vivid imagination. Also there'll probably be a whole lot of babies. Do you like babies?"

"Um. Not really?"

"Yeah, me neither." Veronica shrugged. "I mean they're cute and all, but ugh, the crying and the screaming and how they leak fluids everywhere just puts me right off."

Verity tossed back the rest of her drink. "I don't think I want to think about that right now," she said. "I'll deal with that when it comes up. How are things with you and Christine, anyway?"

Veronica gave her a bright, brittle smile. "Uh… there really isn't a 'me and Christine,'" she said. "I mean she- she's always put the Brotherhood first. That's where her first loyalty lies. No matter what happens, she's Brotherhood before anything else. And everything that comes with that." She tilted her glass back again. And she's involved in some super-secret club." Veronica rolled her eyes. "Like, within the already super-secret club of the Brotherhood. It's like, super-secret-squared."

"Yeah?" Verity was intrigued.

"Circle of Steel," said Veronica. "They're the ones who sent her after Eld- Elijah. But that makes sense, I guess, because the rest of the Brotherhood is pretty much fine with living in a hole forever."

"What does it do?"

"I don't _know_," Veronica replied. "Something to do with being more active in the wasteland is all I've figured out. Chrissy won't tell me anything more. I think it might be because of – well, because of you. Us being friends."

"Sorry," said Verity. "For being a security threat. Seems like being close to me isn't really good for anyone's social life."

"Oh, whoa, hey." Veronica's eyes widened. "I didn't mean for it sound like that. I wouldn't trade you." She offered a lightning-fast smile. "More drinks?"

"You guys are weird." Verity watched Veronica refill her glass. "You're weird and you have weird rules. I mean, I guess they'd be useful at some point, like maybe if you're just starting out and there's radiation and monsters and assholes everywhere."

"We are pretty weird," Veronica said morosely. "I guess we just don't adapt. Even if the outside world builds back up to pre-war levels of tech, we'll just be sitting underground, or in a cave, or an old military complex, or anything we can find, hoarding all the energy weapons we can find and making sure no one else can have them."

Verity sat forwards. "And everyone would be like 'wooo, the caves are haunted' because you'd hear weird noises late at night and sometimes people would go missing if they were resourceful enough to get in."

"And we'd be like 'bomb collars for everyone!' and also all be related to each other." Veronica wrinkled her nose. "God. You know what the worst thing would be? Never seeing the sky. No stars, no sun. Just ventilation fans rotating forever. I hate being stuck down there. I just feel _trapped_, you know?" She sighed. "Trapped." She slumped forward, elbows on her knees.

"Smiling sad," said Verity, half to herself.

"What?" Veronica looked up.

"It's what the Forecaster said about you. Ages ago."

"Oh, you can't listen to that kid," she said half-heartedly. "He's sweet, but he's a little bit … well. Cracked."

"He was right about some things."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "Or was it vague enough to apply to anything? Confirmation bias. Gets them every time."

"He said we'd be friends. Well – actually, he said it was possible we'd be friends." Verity frowned.

"There we go." Veronica grinned. "See? I'm a friendly enough person, and then you do the rest yourself. Balance of probabilities."

"'Smiling sad' always struck me as kind of accurate, though," said Verity.

Veronica looked away. "I'm not sad."

"You're not happy."

"I'm – I don't know. It doesn't matter."

Verity watched her, concerned. "I think it does."

Veronica shrugged defensively. "We've been through this. There's nothing I can do. Brotherhood's family. You can't just walk away from your family. Swap them for a new one when it gets inconvenient."

"Yeah but you don't have to like, live with your family forever. You already spend as little time there as possible."

"Well what else can I do?" Veronica asked, irritation creeping into her voice. "The Brotherhood don't let you have dual citizenship, you're Brotherhood or you're an outsider. No halfway houses while you're trying to kick the Brotherhood habit."

"Okay, okay. I've been thinking about this for a while: what if I set you up with a workshop and a research and development budget?"

Veronica's eyes widened. "What?"

"Like I fund you to research things and make me cool stuff. I think you'd be good at it! Your skills are kind of wasted on hanging around the 188 organising food budgets and stuff."

"I – I thought you couldn't hire your friends to do things for you."

"That's public responsibility stuff. This is just me making the most of an underused resource. And you could take things back to the Brotherhood. But only if I agree to release them." Verity raised her eyebrows hopefully. "What do you think?"

"Well," Veronica began, slowly. "If it's okay with the Brotherhood, then… yeah. It'd be great to be… well, useful again."

Verity grinned. "That's great! Maybe you could share that huge building down by Vault 21 with that Michael Angelo guy."

"Ooh," said Veronica. "He's weird. Option B?"

Verity's grin turned savage. "Option B is I kick the NCR out of their embassy and you have that."

"Are things really getting that bad?" Veronica asked quietly.

"Mm-hmm. I think they're going to get a lot worse, too." Verity stared down at her half-empty glass. "I just can't think of a way around it. Still. Let's not think about that tonight. Pour some more drinks."

Veronica obliged.


	30. Neon Flashing

Short. Also, I love Benny.

ALSO also omg Lonesome Road comes out so soon.

EDIT: HOW DID ITALICS GET STUCK ON

* * *

The cocktail lounge was quiet in the early afternoon, and Verity's hands were clasped around a cup of coffee, for once, instead of spirits. She and Benny were all but alone at one side of the room, which meant that they could talk freely in relative peace.

She covered her eyes with one hand. "Missing?" she repeated. "How?"

Benny smiled faintly. "By 'missing', angel," he said. "I mean they're gone without a trace. No one's seen them or heard from them since. We don't know 'how'."

"How many?"

"A dozen, maybe. Could be more. There's a lot of drifters out there, no one keeping track of them. No one waiting for them to get home."

"It's easy for people to go missing out here," she said. "Even with increased patrols."

"I know," he said. "But it's strange that this seems to all be happening in one place, don't you think?"

"All around Nipton, did you say?" She checked the map on her pip-boy. "There's nothing down there. It's barely resettled because it's just so damn creepy." She scrolled across the grid. I guess there used to be some gang hanging round the pass through the mountains, but we got rid of them. Other than that, there's really nothing there."

Smoke drifted from his cigarette. "Just letting you know what I've been told. Maybe things have changed."

"Okay. I'll get some securitrons sent down there," she said, making a note to remind herself on the pip-boy. "And I guess some mercs for backup and reporting." She looked up. "You look tired. Are you hungover?" He had dark circles under his eyes, and his usually clean-shaven jaw was covered in stubble.

He gave her a weary smile. "Nah. Someone tried sending me a package with a little something special inside. It went off early, though, I've been picking through scraps of paper and pieces of the mailroom kid all night."

"Someone mailed you a _bomb_?" she asked. "What the fuck?"

"I'm not too worried." He inspected his nails. "I'm far safer here than anywhere else."

"That's a little, uh, blasé," she said. "You're not going to get some extra security or something?"

"Well, I'll need a new mailroom clerk," he said. "I could tell them to be a little more careful if you feel that strongly about it."

She frowned at him. "Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"What's the point?" he asked. "You never hear the one that gets you."

A chill ran down her spine. "Don't talk like that."

"Why now? It's true," he said. "Why waste time worrying about what might happen to you? Live in the moment. Because when your time comes, you won't feel a thing."

"Certain types of raiders seem to take delight in dismembering you slowly over the course of a few weeks," she said. "I've seen it."

Benny laughed. "When am I gonna get caught by raiders, angel? I've got my bodyguards for town, and securitrons if I want to leave. Thanks for your concern, but it's not necessary."

She folded her arms. "Any idea who might have sent it?"

He shrugged lazily. "You can't get to where I am without treading on a few toes," he said. "Comes with the territory."

"Seems to me, you've never cared too much about making enemies," said Verity. "And you don't tie up your loose ends very well, either."

He grinned. "Like you?"

She smiled at him over her cup of coffee. "You couldn't claim to have tied me up particularly well, could you?"

"Why don't you give me another chance?" He raised an eyebrow. "I could show you what I've learned since the first time."

She sat back in her chair, smiling. "Think you've learned some new tricks since then?"

"I flatter myself that I've picked up a few things."

"Well I have too," said Verity. "So don't you start getting too cocky."

"You're breaking my heart, angel." He gave her a smile and lit another cigarette. "Anything else we need to cover off right now?"

"Why do you call me 'angel'?" she asked.

His grin grew wider. "Little bit of truth, little bit of irony."

She stared at him blankly.

"Well, you saved my life," he said. He leaned forward, as if he were going to share a secret. "But we both know you're no angel."

She felt colour rising to her cheeks, but she wasn't going to give him the reaction he wanted. "That's _very _sweet," she said, glaring. "Is that all?"

"Have you been to see the sharecroppers your boy out in Freeside was talking about? I'd go myself, but I've got meetings with that Westside collective all this week."

"Ugh." Verity closed her eyes. "Yeah. I need to get on to that. It's just the walk I'm not looking forward to."

"We could be in for a rough time if they're not growing anything, our funds are gonna take a hit if we need to import everything. You need to check it out sooner, rather than later."

"Yeah, fine, whatever," she said. "Hey, do you think we could get this floor revolving? It says outside on the sign that it used to be able to."

Benny sighed. "Not with our current power supply. Even with the solar panels."

She leaned her head back against the seat back behind her. "Fuck," she breathed. "What the fuck are we gonna do?"

"We take the Dam or we fade into the wasteland," he said. "Another forgotten tourist trap. We need it. And we need it soon. Something's gotta give."

She groaned. "That fucking song. And the fucker who sang it. Wish I'd killed him myself."

Benny was staring at her, one eyebrow raised. "I'm, uh… not sure I follow."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "How do we- I just-" She sighed, frustrated. "They're not just going to hand it back."

"Indeed they aren't." He smiled tightly. "You know, we wouldn't be having this problem right now if you hadn't insisted on-"

"I _know_, okay?" she snapped. "No need to rub it in. I just thought-"

"That everyone would get along if you just asked nicely enough, am I right?"

She laughed harshly and looked down at the cup in her hands. "Yeah. Something like that. I know you told me it wouldn't work. I just wanted… wanted the killing to be over. It was stupid."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, angel." Benny reached out and lifted her chin gently so he could look her in the eyes. "You just need to know that talking might not work this time around."

She nodded. "Could – could we take them on with the securitrons? If it came to that?"

He waved a hand. "Oh, yeah. No problem. Main issue I see is that they're not going to be happy if we try to take something we legally – as they understand it, anyway – have no right to. Breaking our agreement with them, if you will. It's not a good idea to piss off our largest source of revenue."

"How do we do it, then?"

Benny shrugged. "Got me there. Maybe we could provoke them into something, make it look like they're being aggressive. Or maybe you really could talk it out, you're chummy with Kimball, ain't you?"

"Not exactly," she muttered. "That's it?"

"That's all I could think of, angel, feel free to bring up new options. There's only one way to get the Dam for certain, that's to move first. If we let the NCR know we wanna take it, they could bring in reinforcements, which could make things a lot harder for us."

"House wanted to go it alone," she said. "That means it's possible, right?"

Benny sneered. "House had ideas about a lot of things, but that don't mean they were good ideas. I guess we could do it. But it'd mean a lot of lost revenue. And right now I don't know if that's an option for us."

"This is _way_ too hard," complained Verity, closing her eyes.

"No one ever said this was gonna be easy. You sure you don't want to Irish up that coffee a little?"

She grinned and finished the last of her cup. "No thanks, I'm good for now. Should be heading off, anyway."

"Just one thing before you go, angel," he said, as she was standing up. "Please don't tell that sniper of yours about any of this."

She froze, and then slowly sat down again. "I don't want to lie to him," she said.

"I didn't ask you to do that," said Benny. "Just we don't want the NCR finding out about this before we've even know what we're doing, dig?"

"He wouldn't-" she began, but couldn't finish the sentence.

"You sure?" he asked. "That's a lot to ask of a soldier. Picking you over the NCR, mom, and apple pie?"

She stared at her empty mug. Whatever she did, it'd change things between her and Boone. If he stayed, he'd be an exile, unable to return to NCR territory. He had too much time left to serve; they needed the Dam too soon. If he did go back – she wasn't sure. Interrogated for information about her? Her fingernails dug into her palms at the thought of some of the 'techniques' they might use. Used as a tool against her? He'd said once before that the NCR would never send him in to kill her, but they could just as easily send him in to bring her all the way back to California. She'd probably go, too.

"Snap out of it." Benny's voice broke through her thoughts. "I don't need you going all cuckoo over this right now."

"Okay," she said wearily. "Okay, that's it. I've gotta – gotta think about some stuff, I guess."

Benny smiled sadly. "That you do. See you later, angel."

She watched him go, and then slumped down in her seat. When had this whole thing turned into such a clusterfuck? She thought she'd planned things out so well, been _so clever_. Now everything seemed like it was falling apart.

* * *

Next chapter: OWB?


	31. And Your

Warning: odd story format.

I _think_ I know how this is all going to end.

Also just wtf, Ulysses. Wtf.

* * *

The sky was smoky and purple as the sun sank behind the horizon. From the penthouse suite of the Lucky 38, they could see the mountains as they became wreathed in haze. Below, the New Vegas nightlife was just beginning, a muted hum from this high up.

Verity was restless, fidgety, hardly able to sit still. She felt trapped, almost. Like the caged beasts in the Thorn. But if she was to leave the 38, she had no idea where she'd want to go.

"You seem… distracted." Boone let the words sit in the air, not a question, not an accusation, just a statement. But that was Boone all over, hardly ever pushed, hardly ever pried. Accepted. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because he was so unused to being accepted himself.

Her heart gave one of those painful, familiar twangs, and she smiled brightly. "When I first got up here," she said. "I asked House if I could knock out one of the windows and practice shooting things. North would have been best, goes straight up to the hills where the raiders hide out. Or south-west, Fiends and cazadores and the odd deathclaw. East you get mostly Freeside and straight south is pretty just NCR, soldiers and sharecroppers. Anyway, he said no. Which wasn't a surprise, he was all about the buzz kill." She rolled her eyes.

Boone was watching her warily. "Don't have much time left here," he said. "Should be getting ready to go back."

The idea of having him leave again so soon made her stomach tie itself into knots. "Okay," she offered, speaking as casually as she could. "Well - want me to take you out somewhere nice?"

The questioning glance he threw her told her she hadn't hidden it well enough. "No," he said. "That's okay. I'd rather stay up here with you."

The smile that spread over her face was genuine. "I'll get the kitchen to send something up, then." She got up to use the intercom.

Walking back, her nerves were so strained she felt like they were humming. "What – what do you think you'd want to do after your service is up?" she asked tentatively. "I mean – after all this-" she gestured to the room around them- "is over."

He sighed. "I don't know," he said. "It feels… strange. To make plans that involve… someone else. Again." He looked up at her, searching her face for answers.

"Maybe you shouldn't think about it like that," she said, sitting down next to him. "It doesn't have to be – I don't know. Everything. The only thing that's important. Just – two people who want to spend time together." Her smile was shaky.

His eyes were troubled. "I don't know what I could do," he said. "Killing things is all I've ever been good at."

She smiled sadly. "Never any shortage of things that need killing," she said. "I don't know for me either, if that helps. What would I do, head down to Primm and ask for my next delivery?"

"You can do anything. I've seen that."

"Have you?" she asked. "I feel like I've – taken a blade to the Mojave." She swallowed tightly, and when she looked up at him her eyes were large. "Covered it in scars. Carved it up without – without really thinking what shape it'd be when I was done."

He watched her, wordless.

"And I don't even know what I should have done – what I'd do differently." She laughed hollowly. "Could have turned down that fucking delivery, I guess. Save me a lot of trouble."

"So where would you be now?" he asked, quietly. "If you hadn't taken it."

She smiled bitterly. "Probably heading west. Hoping the rumours I'd been hearing about the Legion weren't true." She paused. "Alone, again. Trying to make it to the next town before nightfall."

"Would you trade it?" he asked. "Everything you have now for not getting shot in the head?"

She leaned her head back on his shoulder. "It's funny," she said. "What you think would make you happy. Money and power and anything you could ever want. It doesn't – well, maybe it makes Benny happy. I don't know. Would I trade it, though? Take back everything I've learned and… everyone I've met out here? No. Not – not you. Not any of the others. Not for anything."

He turned to her and lifted his hand to her cheek.

"Baby."

The familiar voice made her jump. Benny knocked on the wall gently. He gave a pained smile when he saw the two sitting close together. "Sorry to interrupt, it's – well, it's important."

Verity pulled away reluctantly. "What is it?"

"Well," he said. "The securitrons are back from Nipton."

"And?" she prompted irritably.

"_And_ they came back alone. No mercs."

She straightened. "Seriously? Just gone?"

"Mm-hmm."

She stood up. "What sort of data did the securitrons pick up?"

"Twenty goddamn hours of dead air and static. I've got the tapes if you'd like to see them."

She took one of the disks from his hand and slotted it into her pip-boy. Static filled the screen like grey, swirling snow. The only way she knew it was even playing was the tiny white timestamp in the corner of the screen. She skipped forward a few hours, and then again. Nothing changed. She ejected the holo-tape and handed it back.

"That's creepy as shit," she said. "They're all like that?"

"Afraid so." He rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. "All wiped. Nothing between when they left and when they arrived back."

"What should we do?"

"That's what I came up here to discuss. Keep throwing people at it? Close the road? Write off everything from Searchlight to the Outpost?" Hisdark eyes were bright and restless."I won't lie to you, angel, I don't like this at all. Doesn't sit right."

She folded her arms and drummed the fingers of one hand against her arm. "I'll go down there," she said, after a moment. "See what's up."

"No," said Boone. "No, you won't."

She set her jaw. "What else can I do?" she asked, barely managing to keep her voice calm. "We can't just put a fence up and keep everyone away from it. I need to find out what's happening, and quickly. This is just plain _weird._"

"I don't care," he said. "You can't keep running off blindly into danger like this."

From the corner of her eye she could see Benny shifting uncomfortably.

"Come with me," she said, quietly. "You, me, Ronnie – she's still in town, Cass if she's up to it, and Raul. We can pick up Arcade, even, if he's not busy. Lily's too far away We get the gang back together, take a ton of securitrons, and head down with basically a small army. The Legion couldn't stop that. _Nothing_ can stop that."

"Christ," he muttered, turning his face away. "Fine. But I don't like it." She watched as he stood and left the room.

She turned back to Benny, with a slightly embarrassed smile. "Sorry," she said, her voice low.

He grinned. "Can't blame him. I'd want to keep you all to myself, too."

She couldn't help but return the smile. "You need to watch that mouth, Benny."

"It's gotten me in trouble a few times," he admitted. "Probably will again. Thanks for taking this one on, angel. Let me know when you're heading out."

"I'll talk to the sharecroppers on the way down," she said, as he began to walk away.

"Just throw money at them 'til they agree," he said. "Only way to foster goodwill in this damn town."

"Blank cheque?" she suggested.

"Anything they want. Goodnight."

* * *

"Hell yes!" said Veronica. "I love this type of weird stuff. What if it's aliens? I'm gonna go with aliens. Do I get a prize if I get it right?"

"Uh, I'm sure I could find you something," Verity said. "If it_'s _aliens."

"Awesome!" she exclaimed. "I wonder if they'll try to abduct us. I'll probably be okay because I don't need a weapon. You're probably going to have a harder time, though, they'll probably take any guns off you when they bring you up."

Verity found herself horrified and fascinated at the same time. "What would they want to abduct us for?"

"Oh, experiments, most likely. Testing new technology. Gene splicing, maybe. Maybe we'll be put in suspended animation and not wake up for like two hundred years and the world will be totally different. Ooh, or maybe they can go back in time! Oh my God!" She clutched Verity's arm. "What if we could stop the great war?"

"I don't think I want to go anymore," said Verity. "This all sounds creepy."

"Oh, no no no, it'll be fine," Veronica grinned reassuringly. "I'll make sure we all get out okay. Sign me up!"

* * *

"No way," said Cass. "This can't be a good idea. People _stay away_ from places that disappear people. Not go investigate. Seriously. Something's wrong with your survival mechanisms."

"I will give you all the whiskey I own."

"Honey," she sighed. "You're sweet, trying to be an enabler and all, but I can buy my own drinks these days. I've got a caravan business to run, and a hell of a lot to catch up on. I know I owe you a huge fucking favour. Probably more than one. But I can't afford to pay you back right now. Sorry."

* * *

"Whatever's down there wiped the robots' memory," said Verity. "That's mostly why I'm asking you. I don't know a goddamn thing that could do that without destroying the actual machines."

"Well, magnets could do it, theoretically. And certain types of electrical fields." Arcade watched the blank footage on Verity's pip-boy, almost hypnotised. "You say the people you sent down didn't return?"

"Vanished."

"Was there any radiation coming off the securitrons that returned?"

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "Geiger counter didn't pick up anything from the tapes, though. I'd assume the tapes would have been exposed to any radiation that did occur for this to have happened to them, though."

Arcade rubbed his hand across his jaw. "One would assume. Okay. I'll come down. If we're careful."

"When have I ever been anything but?" she asked.

He laughed uncomfortably.

* * *

"You still haven't had enough of running off into danger, boss?" asked Raul. "I had, perhaps foolishly, assumed that, one day, you would begin to value being alive. Maybe that was asking too much."

"We don't know what it is, yet," she said. "It might not be that bad."

"If people go missing there, it's bad," he said. "Trust me on this one."

"So, you're not interested?"

"I didn't say that." Raul wiped his hands on his overalls. "If you need me to come, I'll come. Don't know how much use I'll be."

"Don't start that shit with me."

He spread his arms wide. "I'm serious, boss. What use for an old repairman are you going to have?"

"Well, like I told Arcade before, whatever it is wiped the securitrons. Maybe you could figure out what it did when we get there."

"You might have more luck letting me look at the securitrons that came back."

"Oh." Verity sighed. "They're back in circulation again. Sorry."

"No problem," said Raul. "So, when are we leaving?"

* * *

The situation with the sharecroppers was better than she'd anticipated. Although a lot of them had left their crops to wither and waste, returned to California or tried their luck in Freeside, some had stayed. Verity wasn't quite sure whether the sight of the contingent of securitrons she'd brought along, or the amount she was offering them to stay and produce goods for New Vegas, but the workers were surprisingly quick to agree.

"Things are going well," said Verity to Veronica as they set off again. "This isn't normal."

"You are _way _too paranoid," said Veronica. "Oh my God, aliens! I wonder if they'll be the peaceful type or the shooty type."

"Aliens?" asked Raul. "Nobody told me about any aliens."

Arcade adjusted his glasses. "Honestly," he scoffed. "The chances of aliens not only existing, but showing up in our galactic neighbourhood are miniscule. Even if faster-than-light travel was possible. What could they possibly want from us?"

"We're a cautionary tale," said Veronica. "What happens when tech advances beyond man's intelligence. Or capacity for understanding. Just a bunch of monkeys running around shooting lasers at each other."

"So obviously protecting all the monkeys by hoarding all the good lasers is the responsible thing to do?" asked Arcade.

Veronica smiled brightly, but her voice had a hard edge. "Probably more so than handing out everything we have to whoever walks past."

"Hey," Verity snapped. "No faction wars. Or I'll turn this whole thing around right now."

"Geez," muttered Veronica . "Sorry, mom."

They walked on down the dusty highway.

"Are there actually going to be aliens?" asked Raul, after a few minutes.

"I don't know," said Verity. "What I do know is that there's something weird down there. So-"

The group jumped as a loud retort rang out across the plains.

"Gecko," said Boone.

"Um. Thanks," she said. "So, uh, so, we have to be prepared for anything. So be careful."

* * *

It was late at night when they arrived in Nipton. The small settlement was still little more than a ghost town, the town hall charred, but still standing, and the houses abandoned. The crosses and banners had been taken down long ago, and the piles of burnt rubber tyres buried in huge pits. What bodies that were still recognisable as human were buried in a makeshift cemetery behind the town. Despite these measures, people had been unwilling to re-settle the area – perhaps understandably. People said the town was haunted, and with the recent disappearances, Verity wasn't sure they were wrong.

Verity wasn't sure where to start. The town seemed deserted, and after checking a few houses to find nothing, wandered back out into the main street.

"Hey," hissed Veronica. "What's that out there?"

There was a flickering light just to the south. Verity checked her pip-boy. Nothing.

"Let's go check it out," she said.

The source of the light was a large piece of machinery, projecting a flickering eye onto a screen.

"It's a satellite," said Arcade, voice full of wonder. "But in good condition, considering it must have gone through re-entry recently."

Veronica sighed. "It's from space, at least. Partial victory."

Verity moved closer. There was a large, shiny dome on one end of it. The colour was the deepest blue she'd ever seen, and even in the dim glow of her pip-boy light it seemed to shine like the morning sky. She reached out for it.

"Careful," said Boone, just behind her, "You don't want to-"

Her fingers touched the dome, and then she was gone.


	32. One Armed Bandits Crashing

Spoilers for Old World Blues begin here and NEVER STOP

I am also very spoiled by (and grateful to!) all my reviewers. ILU~

* * *

There was a cool breeze. Verity blinked. She wasn't sure how long she'd had her eyes open. There was a faint metallic taste in the back of her throat, and a lingering feeling of sluggishness tugging at her limbs.

The darkness began to drain out of the night sky. She tried to focus. She was on a balcony, looking out over a vast, rocky landscape. Bright red lights shone out of a dome in the distance, and closer, pipes from a building belched out industrial smoke. The sunlight hit her eyes, finally, and she raised a heavy hand to her forehead to shield her eyes.

The skin on her forehead felt strange. There was a raised line of skin running across it. A scar. She frowned, and the scar crinkled along with her skin. She shivered, although the sun was already beginning to heat the air. She stood up, shakily. Her body ached as she straightened. She'd been – somewhere else. Somewhere. With some people. Friends. Boone. Where was-

And then she saw him, slumped against the balcony railing. A scar ran across his head like the one on her own. His chest wasn't moving. She dropped to her knees, crawled over to him. She couldn't breathe. She reached out for him – and her fingers went straight through him. He vanished.

She stared at the spot where he'd been, heart racing. She swallowed thickly.

There was nothing there. No one. She pushed herself back upright and made a stumbling circuit of the balcony. Satellite dishes and pipes and buildings, all contained in a circle of mountains.

On her third trip around, she noticed there was a door set into the centre pillar. She opened it, with some difficultly, and stumbled inside. Her things. All her things were here, weapons, armour, food, chems. She struggled back into her armour, picked up her stuff, and headed out into what seemed to be a foyer. She climbed into the elevator and pressed the only button she could see.

The shudder as the elevator ground to a halt at the bottom of the shaft almost knocked her off her feet.

* * *

"My brain," she said dully. "Is missing."

The think tank in front of her moved one of its eye monitors a little closer. "Weren't you listening?" it said.

"Yeah," she said, looking at her pip-boy. "I think." It seemed to have some objectives programmed into it. When had she put those in? "I don't feel so great."

The think tank shrank back a little. "Maybe you should talk to Dala about that. She likes… human-y things."

"Are you Doctor O?" she asked, instead.

The think tank groaned. "I might as well be," he said. "Is that a pip-boy you're wearing? Piece of RobCo trash."

Verity squinted at him. "They hold up quite well. Uh, I think the company went out of business a while back, though."

"RobCo went bust?" All three of his monitors, two eyes and a mouth, shot out towards her. "I knew, _knew_ that people would see that company for what it was. Trend-based technology, overpriced junk. A RobCo label slapped on to something can inflate the price by a few thousand dollars. People bought RobCo tech because it was a status symbol. It made me _sick_."

"Well," she said, rubbing at the scar on her forehead absently. "They folded. Won't be producing anything else ever again."

"That's the best news I've heard all day!" he said. "What was it you wanted, again?"

"It says, 'get the sonic emitter'," she read, from her pip-boy. "Is this the sonic emitter?" She held up the weapon in her other hand.

Dr O floated over to see. "Yes, that bit's crossed off, see? You've got the emitter, but you still have to find the upgrade. It should be – do you have a map? Good. Okay, it's way over to the east – down a little bit – yeah, that one."

"Thanks," she said, wearily, setting it as her target location.

He drew back a little. "You don't seem to be in optimal operating condition," he said.

She smiled weakly. "Think I just need some fresh air. Food. Something. Human-y stuff."

"I'll defer to your experience, then." He turned away.

* * *

The sky overhead was a flat denim blue, and seemed to be hanging far too low over the rocky plain. Heat rose from the ground in shimmering waves. From the ground, Verity could see the mass of pipes that ran out toward the different facilities.

She was alone. Completely. Silence filled her ears.

Some sort of blue grass was growing by the side of the path. She crouched to pick some, curiously. It didn't smell of anything at all, and she dropped it, unnerved.

There was something up ahead, a flicker on her pip-boy screen. She crept closer hesitantly. It seemed to be a person – she couldn't tell whether it was male or female – with a shaved head and wearing a short, backless gown. They were holding a large pistol, and walking in what looked like a pattern: halfway along the length of one pipe; across the walkway; around two small lights planted into the ground, and back to the starting point.

The figure looked up. She hadn't made a move, she would have sworn she hadn't, but they'd seen her anyway. It lifted the pistol and began to fire, running towards her.

Verity fumbled for her own pistol, her nerves slow to respond, and lifted shaking hands. She shot off three rounds in quick succession, saw the blossoms of blood as they hit. They didn't even seem to register. The person just kept running towards her.

Verity started backing away. She fired once more before she turned and began to run back towards the safety of the doors. She thought she could feel the air currents from the bullets speeding past her, and finally threw herself through the doors, stabbing the close button frantically.

The doors slid shut, barely making a whisper. She stared at the steel in disbelief for a moment, then began to look through her collection of weapons. The pistol that Benny had sent to her. Ratslayer, which Boone had given her so long ago. A silenced .45. And that was it. None of them had the stopping power she seemed to need. She got to her feet and began to walk back to the Think Tank.

* * *

"Why would you put a dog's brain in a gun?"

"I was running out of other things to put them in," announced Dr Borous. "Besides, it makes sense, doesn't it? A dog: loyal hunter; protector; detector of threats; devoted to his master. What greater joy for him than chewing through his master's enemies with .357 caliber bullets?"

"Dogs like to run around and shit," she said. "How would you like it if you were stuck in a- hmm. Alright. Least you can move on your own, though."

"The brain gets all the exercise it requires." Borous sounded offended. "It has been _mathematically calibrated_ to ensure that each nerve corresponds to a mechanical function."

"Can it smell?"

"I… don't know," he said, turning his eye monitors to the huge minigun in her hands. "_Can_ you?"

The gun made a whining sound that was part organic and part mechanical.

"That means yes," he said confidently. "Now, if you have finished wasting my time, I have some very important research to get back to."

"Do you have anything that could make it lighter?" she asked. "I'm struggling, a little. There's just these two little handles-"

"Just because your puny arms cannot use it efficiently does not mean there is a design flaw!" he said. "Perhaps you could use your opposable thumbs to fashion yourself some type of strap for you to carry it with. Or ingest some type of physiological enhancement product."

She shrugged. It made sense. Maybe she could duct-tape it on. She checked her pip-boy again. "What's Gabriel?" she asked. "Is that something else you put a dog brain in?"

"No," he said. "Gabriel is and remains a dog. With enhancements."

"Enhancements like what?"

"He is larger! Faster. Stronger. More aggressive. Deadlier. A true weapon in the war on Communism."

"The war on what?"

"Communism! The red menace!"

"Um," she said. "Okay. If I see anything red and menacing I'll get back to you."

"See that you do!" he called after her.

* * *

The X-8 research centre was… well, a game. A game she didn't quite understand the rules of, maybe, and the files she had to lift from the computers didn't seem to make any sense at all, but a game none the less. And there was enough Buffout scattered through the rooms to make the K9000 easy enough to use.

"Good boy," she said absently, as she crouched over the body of another lobotomite. The gun responded with a cheerful bark.

Verity ran a finger over the scar on the lobotomite's forehead. So many of them. She felt ill. This, this was the reason people had been disappearing. Why the mercs hadn't come back. This was her, except – something was different. Why had she been saved? Why had the operation been successful on her and not the man in front of her?

She lifted the man's head gently, trying to figure out if she'd seen him before. A trader, maybe, or a caravan guard. A prospector that no one even knew was missing. A courier. She grimaced.

"Well done!" Borous' voice came over the loudspeaker. "You have unlocked the next part of the test!"

She left the lobotomite lying on the ground, and walked back to the testing computer.

"Gabe is a good boy," said Borous, as Verity selected the residential cyberdog test option. "He can be a little rambunctious at times, but he means well."

The elevator shuddered to a halt, and she opened the door. Glowing gently in the darkness in front of her was the biggest cyberdog she'd ever seen. It hadn't seen her yet, and she shrank back against the wall of the model house behind her, hoping to stay out of sight.

"Gabe! You have a visitor!" Borous exclaimed.

The dog raised his head. A low rumble came from his throat.

"This nice lady is going to try and take your things," he continued. "You should let her. Good luck, lobotomite!"

Gabe sniffed the air, and, very slowly, turned towards her.

"Fuck!" She bolted, scrambling around the corner of the house. She leapt for the roof, and managed to haul herself up. Gabe barked at her, sending a sonic blast towards her that knocked her off her feet. She began to slide down the steep slope of the roof, but threw a hand out desperately and managed to catch a tile with her fingernails. She felt one of her nails tear as it caught, but there was so much adrenaline pumping through her that she barely noticed. She flattened herself against the rooftop as much as she could.

She could hear the huge dog growling as he paced around the walls.

"What the fuck did you _do_ to him?" she called out. No answer.

"Hey, boy," she called, hesitantly, and then ducked as another sonic blast flew over her head. She opened her bag and began searching through it frantically. "Do you like… um, cram?" She tossed a box over the edge of the roof.

She could hear Gabe sniffing, then tearing open the cardboard and chewing on the processed meat inside. She allowed herself a peek over the edge, but pulled back as the huge dog looked up, growling.

"Don't get fed much, huh?" she asked. "What else… I've got some Salisbury steak? It's pretty gross, though." She threw it over the edge as well. "And, um. I have a puppy you can be friends with?"

She carefully lowered the barrel of the gun over the side. It barked, happily. She dared to look down to see what was happening. Gabe sniffed at it, curiously, and began to growl, but it was less certain this time.

"Good boy," said Verity, as soothingly as she could. "Okay, you gonna let me down?"

The dog stood up on his hind legs, planted his front feet against the wall of the house, and shoved his nose into her face. She yelped, dropping the gun and pushing herself away from the edge.

Gabe began to growl again. Verity wiped the smudge of dampness where the nose had touched her off her face. "It's okay," she said, though she was starting to doubt it. "Holy shit I'm going to die." She moved back to the roof's edge slowly, and this time didn't back away when the huge dog began sniffing her face. He growled once more, trotted in a circle, and sat down.

She waited a moment, then slowly began to climb down to the ground. "I need to, um, find something," she said. "Of yours. A tape, or something."

He just looked at her.

"Right," she said. "Well, I'm going to do some digging."

She set off for the first pile of loose dirt she saw. Gabe followed her. She looked at him uncertainly, not sure how he'd respond if she messed around with the holes he'd been digging. She nudged at the dirt with her feet as nonchalantly as possible. His growl made the hairs on the back of her nick begin to rise. The pile contained a few bones, a battery, and a ball. She took the ball, quickly.

"Fetch?" she asked, and tossed the ball away. Gabe chased after it immediately, and she used the opportunity to search another pile.

It took three more 'fetch' games before she found the holotape, and she shoved it into her pocket quickly.

"Okay, boy," she said, as she headed back to pick up her cyberdog gun. "I'll be heading off, then." She shook a couple of Buffout into her hand and gulped them down.

Gabe whined, and nudged her hand with his huge head.

"What?" she asked. "Oh, you want some? No, it's not for dogs."

He nudged at her hand again, more insistently.

"Fuck, this is a terrible idea," she said. "Okay. Sit."

Gabe sat. He was still taller than she was. She took another two of the pills out of the container and held them out gingerly. He lapped them up with one swipe of his huge tongue. Immediately the fur along his back began to rise, and he began growling again, more ferociously than before.

Verity panicked, grabbing for the gun, but the dog didn't seem to be paying her any attention at all. A swarm of robot scorpions spilled out of the door she'd come through, and began firing their lasers at her and Gabe alike. The Buffout began to kick in, and she lifted the gun and began to fire, bullets tearing through the robots' metal shells like paper. They seemed to just keep coming.

She paused to reload, and a laser beam hit her almost in the eye. She stumbled, barely able to see past the after-image. She heard growling, a crunching sound, and a whine, and then silence.

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

Gabe was sitting in front of her, blood around his mouth.

"Oh, no," she said. "Did you hurt your mouth on the scorpion?"

He let her touch his muzzle gently.

"Okay, how about a stimpak?" she asked. "You'll feel better." He seemed to barely notice the prick of the needle. He licked at his jaw, experimentally, and barked once.

"What a good boy!" she said. "Okay, I have to go, now."

He whined as she opened the door that led back to the elevator, and pawed at the doorway.

"You want to come too?" she asked. "Well… okay. It's not like you're not going to be helpful out there."

She had to get out of the elevator in order to push and prod and shove him in through the tiny door, but eventually managed it. "Good boy," she said, again. "Don't worry, the way out is a lot bigger."

She took a step back and looked at him, critically. "I wonder if I could ride you," she said, thoughtfully. "Because that would be awesome."

Gabe wagged his tail.


	33. All Those Hopes

Verity held on to Gabe's thick fur as he ran through a storm of laser beams towards a group of robot scorpions. They were almost upon them, Gabe firing sonic blasts as they approached, when a laser blast hit him in the chest. He stumbled, dislodging Verity, who tumbled forward over his head.

She crawled to her hands and knees, and, balancing the cyberdog gun on the ground, began to fire. Her bullets pinged off the shells as she tried to get the gun under control, and target the robots' weak joints.

When the robots were a smoking pile of metal in front of her, she turned back to Gabe. He was struggling to get back to his feet. She reached for her stimpaks as she walked towards him.

"Good boy," she murmured, trying to keep him still. "Can't handle too much damage, huh?" She slid the needle into a deep burn along his side. He whined. She injected another, and stood back. "Maybe I need to get you some sort of dog armour pack."

She began to walk. "Heel," she said. He trotted after her, footsteps heavy behind her. "I'm going to leave you just outside the Dome. Just for a little. Shouldn't be too much out there that can hurt you, just-" she frowned. "Just the odd lobotomite. And there's grass, so you can – I don't know. Roll around in it. Do doggy things?"

He whined.

"And I'll get you some more food. Can you actually understand me?" she asked. "I mean, I know cyberdogs are smart. I had one for a bit."

He growled.

"Just a little one, though," she reassured him. "And I had to give him back. So he wasn't really mine."

He barked.

She climbed over a pipe. "How'd you get so big, anyway?"

The huge dog leaped over the pipe behind her, and nudged at her hand with his nose.

"Oh." She gave his head a quick scratch. "You're a… project."

His tail wagged once.

"Yeah, me too," she said. "I think. Come on."

He followed her silently.

* * *

"I can't think properly," said Verity, desperately. "There's something wrong with my – time? I'm losing bits."

Dala circled her speculatively. "There is no part of the extraction process that should cause this to happen," she said. "But then again, it's never worked this way before. Maybe this is normal."

"It's never – wait, _never_ – worked?" she asked. "Why – why do you keep doing it?" She stared at the machine in front of her, the emulated eyes and mouth, and the brain floating gently in gel at the top.

"So we can learn and progress. Myself, I would rather study you for longer. _Much_ longer. But if Klein believes that this is the only way to move forward, then we must do as he says."

"How long have you been doing this for?"

"Oh. I can't remember, now. For a while. They used to be quite useful at tidying up the crater after our experiments had finished. But they seem to have become quite disagreeable when left to congregate. None of them have the depth of comprehension that you exhibit. I haven't been able to glean much from observation, either. Functions seem to be limited to reproductive and aggressive."

"Who did they use to be?" Verity asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Use to be?" asked Dala. "I haven't the faintest idea. But the skinvelopes are mine now. All of them."

"How can they even think?" asked Verity. "If their brains aren't broadcasting to them, like mine is… what's left?"

"The Tesla coils seem to provide them with the capacity for basic functions."

Verity gave up trying to understand. "Okay," she said.

"And their internal upgrades make them resistant to accident or injury, like you. They're perfect for performing menial tasks that may be hazardous."

"Right. Okay. I'm just going to go."

* * *

She was looking for holotapes. Any of them. All of them? That was all the note she seemed to have made in her pip-boy said: Holotapes. And a marker on the map. Higgs Village.

The village itself seemed like it was frozen. A circle of houses perfectly preserved in one moment of time. The synthetic flowers would never wilt, the grass didn't grow, the swings in the playground stood motionless.

There was a gentle background rumble as the ventilators pumped temperature-controlled fresh air into the building, but the air was calm and still. She couldn't tell if the light shining through the grating near the ceiling was from the sun or manufactured, but there was something very slightly off about it. Wrong, somehow. Not natural. It was a near-perfect reproduction of a tiny, pre-war neighbourhood, houses stamped cookie-cutter-identical, but… Empty. Lifeless. Eerie.

Verity poked through the houses. They were dusty and dry, wallpaper peeling like the curl of dry leaves. Light shone through chinks in the boarded-up windows. She lifted books, dropped to the floor to search under beds, crawled over couches to look behind them like she was searching for change.

She couldn't get rid of the feeling that someone was watching her, recording her, but maybe that was just because it felt like she was going through the Think Tanks' actual brains. There were pieces of them scattered through their houses like bullet casings after a firefight, and while she didn't recognise all of them, a few stood out. Dala, with her mirrors and bright lights and cherry-red lipstick. Borous, with his animal cages and the basement which must have doubled as a secondary experiments lab. Klein's house, which she'd figured out by finding a glove with "Dr K", was mostly notable for having not just a bar, but a truly impressive collection of alcohol in various places around his house. Doctor O had tried taking apart some securitrons, and from the burn marks on the walls and the scattered furniture, Verity guessed that they hadn't gone without a fight.

She felt foggy. Numb. Like her head was full of lead. Instead of Tesla coils. She almost laughed.

She came to the last house. Well, she thought it was the last house. They all looked the same, and she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd lost count somewhere. Or even had lost track entirely and had been around the whole lot six times already.

She opened the door. For just a second, she thought she saw Boone standing in the corner of the room, watching her, but the next second he was gone. Unnerved, she took a quick look around the bottom floor, and followed what seemed to be a trail of mentats up the stairs. She couldn't quite tell whose this house was. Nothing labelled, no nametags on clothing, nothing written on the inside covers of the hundreds of books they had. The bedroom floor was scattered with mentats as well. She lifted a pack in her hand. The rattle of the tablets inside seemed to echo inside her head. She took all of them – almost 20, all up – and carefully packed them into her bag.

* * *

"Okay, so what's the deal with your name?" Verity asked Doctor O. "I know you're upset about it, otherwise you wouldn't go around dropping all these passive-aggressive comments."

His eye monitors tilted unhappily. "It's not a letter," he said sulkily. "It's a number."

"What?" she asked. "_Oh_. It's the _number _O, not the letter O."

He was silent. "Uh, O isn't a number," he said, finally.

"I think you'll find it is," said Verity. "It's the one that comes before 1."

He stared at her for almost a minute, silently. "Okay," he said finally. "I think I see what we're dealing with here."

"What?"

"Well," he said slowly. "We're talking about the same number, but it's not called- you know what? Never mind." He turned and began to float away. "Don't know why I'm having this conversation with a lobotomite."

Verity followed him. "No, what is it? I wanna know."

He sighed. "It's called 'zero', okay? _That's _your 'number O'."

"Oh. Yeah, I've heard that before. So your name is _Doctor Zero_?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, wearily.

"Why don't you just spell it Z – E – R – O, then? That's way easier. Can't get that wrong."

"That's not my _name_, though," he said. "The shape's important."

She felt her forehead wrinkling. "Well, you could always stay 'Doctor O'," she said. "It makes you sound cool. Like an evil genius with an, uh, underground lair."

"It's not underground anymore," he said.

"That doesn't matter!" she said encouragingly. "All you really need is an army of henchmen."

"Dala already has the lobotomites," he said. "And they don't really do what she wants them to do anyway."

"So what's your thing?" Verity asked. "Robots, right? Make a robot army to do your bidding."

"Sounds like something Robert House would do," he grumbled.

"Doesn't it?" she asked. "Maybe just make some robot sharks then."

"And I've never really thought of myself as that evil," he continued.

"How about unethical?" she asked. "I've been to your house, buddy, I highly doubt RobCo lent you those securitrons."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But… hmm. Maybe you're right. An unethical genius. I'll have to think about that one some more."

* * *

The Courier sat on the stairs in a fog. She didn't understand anything, could barely understand what was happening. She opened her bag and looked at the cases of mentats inside. Well, why the fuck not? She levered one of the cases open.

It started slowly. It always did. A lightness spreading through her blood. It felt slightly different than normal – probably because her actual brain wasn't inside her head. She couldn't feel her neurons firing or forging new connections, but she could feel the fog lifting slightly. A little like waking up. A little like floating. Like being an atom, electrons circling, knowing that she, along with everything else, was in its proper place. She drifted back down the stairs.

"You know what's a great word?" she asked Doctor Dala.

The think tank turned around expectantly. "What word is that?"

"Sublingual." Verity leaned against the bank of monitors that Dala had been looking at. "It sort of – rolls around your tongue. And then dissolves under it. Straight through to the bloodstream."

Dala's eye monitors moved a little closer. "Yes. Yes it does, doesn't it."

"So, I went to your house in Higgs," Verity said.

Dala's monitors quaked. "Yes?" she asked.

"It's, uh, nice. With all the mirrors. And mannequins. Did you like to," she paused. "Watch yourself?"

"The human form has for some time been an area of… interest for me. Scientific interest, of course."

"And all those teddy bears, watching you. Is that what they were for?"

"Maybe once," said Dala. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just trying to understand you," said Verity. "So you've upgraded from the teddy bears to the lobotomites? Your new collection of helpless pets?"

"They are not helpless. Just fleshy, and soft, and unable to think for themselves."

"It seems strange," Verity said, smiling gently. "You have these representations of human features to – I presume – seem less like a machine. To emphasise your humanity to others. Yet, at the same time, your colleagues seem to reject human qualities they perceive in others."

"It's been so long," whispered Dala. "Since any one of us had our old human forms. It's easy to grow remote… if you have nothing to do with humans anymore."

"But you do, don't you?" she asked. "You're still interested in people."

"Scientifically-" Dala murmured.

"Not just scientifically," Verity said. "The way people move, the way they talk… am I right? Lips and tongue and teeth."

"So many muscles contributing to each word," said Dala. "Each expression."

"What I find interesting is that you seem to fetishize it. It's a function you can no longer perform, and it seems the unavailability of it seems to make it more exciting to you. To draw you in. Or maybe you just miss the sensations. Blood pumping around your body as the heart muscles expand and contract." Verity raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't tell the others that, could you?"

Dala's eye monitors shook. "Are you going to tell them?"

"I don't have any reason to, do I?"

Dala seemed uncertain. "I do not pretend to understand your hormone-driven human motivations," she said. "But – may I scan you? For… research purposes."

Verity smiled. "Go ahead."


	34. Down the Drain

ITT I take gender issues too seriously and go a little off-track.

* * *

Borous eyed Verity suspiciously as she approached. "You _rode_ Gabriel? You _rode my dog_?_"_

She grinned. "Yeah! He's a good boy, isn't he? Smart. Bit jumpy, though. Didn't want to bring him in here because of the brain thing, thought he might get a little snappy."

All three of his monitors retracted. "While I appreciate that you saved his life, he – he seems awfully… attached. To you. So quickly."

"I gave him some food," she said. "And some drugs. You'd be surprised at how many people you can get to follow you home after offering them one or the other. Or let you ride-"

"That's quite enough of that," he said firmly. "But – I see that your treatment of him may have reminded him of me."

"What'd you give him?" she asked. "He's fucking huge."

"Mostly psycho," he said, mournfully. "He became so large I had to install an atomic core to power his mechanical parts and his internal weaponry features. And he never complained. Not once. Just – wagged his tail when I came to see him."

Verity folded her arms. "I think," she said, "that you experiment on animals because it makes you feel powerful. You clearly had a hard time with your peers when you were younger, and you take this frustration and the feelings of impotence you had, and take it out on the animals."

His brain, floating in its biogel tank, lit up, alarmed. "My intellect is far too complex for a – a lobotomite to analyse," he sputtered. "Your hypothesis is preposterous."

"You create your own world which you have total control over, and you make the animals feel like you felt when you were being picked on, and it gives you a sense of power."

"That's an unsubstantiated lie!"

"It's pretty transparent, to be honest. I mean, I do feel bad for you, because the psychological trauma does seem to have been quite pervasive, despite what I would term clear measures of success in your professional life."

"Stop it!" he said. "What are you trying to do?"

"Sorry." She smiled. "Just trying to help you with some issues."

"I don't _have_ any issues," he said. "And you cannot convince me otherwise!"

"Okay," she said. "Whatever you say. Can you make me some dog armour?"

She got the feeling he was glaring at her.

* * *

Verity pulled on the stealth suit gloves.

"Stimpak reserves: adequate."

"Alright," she said. "That's kind of cool."

"Med-x reserves at satisfactory levels."

"Wait, what?" Verity asked.

"This suit has been programmed to dispense analgesics when required."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Could you not? I sort of have a – well, a thing. History. With med-x."

"Well," said the suit. "I can reduce functionality if it would suit your needs better."

"I'd appreciate it," said Verity.

More games. More tests. She could hide from robots just fine, but the proximity detectors gave her the most trouble as she struggled through the tasks.

"I feel like we're on the same wavelength now," the stealth suit said, as they completed the final task. "Don't you?"

"Mm-hmm," said Verity, crouching to look under a desk. "Sure thing."

"Pip-boy light's on."

"It certainly is," she agreed.

"If anyone was here, it'd be easy for them to spot you."

"Yep," she said. "Lucky no one's here right now."

"Someone might come along," the suit suggested.

Verity sighed. "I'm relatively confident about no one else being around right now. Thanks, though." She lay down flat on the ground in order to reach a holotape that had fallen down the back of the desk and was lying in the dust.

She pushed herself back up to her knees to examine it.

"Did you know your pip-boy light is on?"

'Oh my fucking god, yes," said Verity. "_I know_."

"I'm just trying to be helpful," the suit said, sulkily.

"That's sweet of you," she said, standing up. "How about we just leave?"

Verity hoisted herself onto one of the pipes outside the research centre. Easier to stay away from invisible nightstalkers that way. She began to follow it as it wound back to the Think Tank, high above the flat plain of the crater.

"Do you like me?" asked the suit.

"Yep," said Verity. "I do. You're not the type of armour I normally go for, though."

The suit hesitated very briefly before asking her next question. "What do you normally go for, then?"

"Uh…" Verity crouched to scan the ground, aware that she was a prominent target from the pipes. "Well, I'm used to something a little lighter."

The stealth suit made a noise that sounded like a choked sob. "Are you saying I'm too heavy?"

"What?" Verity asked, blindsided. "Um, no? You're, uh, _shit_, um, just more… sturdy? Durable?" She cast around desperately. "Um, so I can rely on you more? You protect me better."

"I see," said the suit tersely. "So what you really want is someone thin and pretty, is that it? I can keep you hidden so no one ever sees you, but that's what you want instead?"

"Okay," said Verity, frowning. "I didn't say that. And this is getting a little ridiculous, to be honest. Seriously, who the fuck programmed you? Sensitive about your weight? This is fucking bullshit. You and both those fucking lightswitches, you're all fucking neurotic. You don't _have_ to define yourself by how much attention you get, okay? You are _great_ the way you are. You don't need anyone else's approval, least of all mine."

She began walking again, carefully balancing on the pipe's rounded surface.

"Who are the lightswitches?" The stealth suit sounded subdued.

Verity sighed. "Literally personality-augmented light switches. Whoever programmed them – I think it might have been Mobius, actually – designed them so they're really jealous of each other and try to score points over each other all the time. Honestly, it just makes me really angry to see these 'catty insecure female' stereotypes just thrown around everywhere. It's not funny, it's pathetic. And unimaginative. _Assholes._"

The suit was silent.

"I mean, honestly," Verity said. "Even the sink has some kind of hysteria going on. It's offensive. Why can't they be a little more self-actualised? I know that like the male personalities that I've managed to find so far aren't exactly normal either, but I feel like it's perpetuating negative-"

"Mine," said the suit quietly.

"What?" she asked, distracted.

"There's a mine," the suit pointed out. "Just a few steps in front of you."

"Oh," said Verity. "Thank you." She took a long step back and shot it with her pistol, detonating it. "I miss those a lot. Quite often I just hear the beeping and start running and I'm out of the blast radius before it goes off. But this way it's not as terrifying, so, thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Look," said Verity. "I didn't mean to-"

A volley of gunfire from the crater floor made her drop flat to the pipe's surface, clinging on to the smooth surface with her knees and elbows so that she wouldn't slide off. The cybergun was heavy on her back – too heavy to get off and start shooting. She reached for her .45.

There were a group of lobotomites on the ground below her, circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

"I thought you were meant to be sneaky," she hissed at the stealth suit.

"I believe they were alerted to your presence by the mine detonation," the suit responded. "And, in addition to that, you _still_ have your pip-boy light on."

The Courier let her forehead drop forwards and hit against the warm steel of the pipe. "_Shit_," she hissed. "Okay."

She readied the pistol in one hand and shuffled over to one side of the pipe to get a good view of the group below. They reminded her of cazadores, almost, the way they never stood still, crawling over the ground in swarms aimlessly. She stretched out her arms, lined up the glowing sights, and fired.

She saw the lobotomite she'd aimed at stumble, but recover, and then aim his rifle up at her. She dropped back down as another hail of bullets came towards her.

"Fuck," she groaned. "Do you think if I just lie here long enough they'll get bored and go away?"

"I believe the chances of that happening are low to minimal," said the suit.

"Okay," said Verity. "Okay, I think you're right. What do I do, try and get the big guns out or try and stay out of sight the rest of the way back to the dome?"

"I am not equipped with combat strategy analysis functions."

"Right." She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Crawling it is."

She began to move forwards, almost pulling herself along by the fingertips as she inched her way along the pipe. It was painfully slow, but she was making progress. The lobotomites grew more and more agitated as she moved along, but she was almost certain that she'd be able to avoid them for most of the way back. Maybe Gabe would come running out to defend her. She smiled at the thought.

A sudden high-pitched beeping made her jump, and too late she saw the flashing orange light in front of her.

She pushed herself up and back, frantically, trying to get out of the way. She felt the blast hit, throwing her backwards, but by then the lobotomites below were firing again. She felt bullets hit her in the shoulder, spinning her round, knocking her off balance, and then she was falling, flying through the air.

She hit the ground with a sickening crunch that reverberated in her ears, and lay still.

She felt a familiar sense of warmth and relaxation spread through her body. "You… fucking… bitch," she choked out, struggling to breathe. "I told you not to fucking med-x me."

"You're seriously injured," said the suit, sounding alarmed. "Your ribs are cracked, your shoulder has been shattered, your right arm is broken, and you have serious internal injuries. I'm applying stimpaks as fast as I can, but you need to get up so you can return to safety!"

The lobotomites weren't firing any more. They were walking towards her, slowly.

"Broken?" whispered the Courier. "I can't – I can't feel anything." She tried to move her arms, her legs, to climb back to her feet and reach for the cyberdog gun that now lay at her side. "I can't _move_."

Her panic was dulled by the med-x as the lobotomites came closer. She struggled to move, put all her energy into just trying to move a finger. Nothing. No response.

They stood in a semi-circle around her, watching her through the goggles that hid their eyes. She looked up at them, her eyes flitting from one to another; at the sky above; at the Think Tank dome in the distance. She was trapped in her own body.

Without warning, one of the lobotomites bent down and picked her up. The others looked at him for a moment, then without speaking a word, began to walk. All she could do was watch; the band of silent lobotomites as they walked; the Dome, as they passed it by; the blue, boundless sky above.


	35. Viva Las Vegas, Turning

She was carried along by the lobotomites' odd, loping gait, thrown about without the ability to compensate for speed and her own weight, unable to pull away and unable to lean in closer. She felt sick, stunned, disconnected, watching her limbs flop uselessly as they moved.

"I've had to increase the absorption of oxygen into your blood," the stealth suit's voice seemed dulled in her ear. "You're not breathing enough."

"I can't," she said, barely able to hear herself. "I can't, my lungs don't-"

The lobotomite that was carrying her looked down at her, his goggles blank black spots boring into her eyes.

She fell silent under his gaze.

She was carried further and further away from the Think Tank dome, its blue spotlights lighting up as the sun began to set. She wanted to reach out for it, sure that if only she wanted it badly enough, she could manage it, but her arms stayed stubbornly still.

They walked under a tangle of pipes and then began climbing into the southern hills she'd seen in the distance. They passed what looked like amakeshift graveyard on the ledge below, recently dug soil heaped in piles, and then into the darkness of a cave.

She could barely see, but as able to make out movement. Someone was walking towards them. A hand was slipped under her head, and began to prod at her neck gently, testingly. The sensation as the fingers slid from pressure on her neck to numbness as they moved down towards her back was eerie. She could feel her hair tugging as it caught on the fingers as they moved lower, but the skin itself was sensationless.

Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and she saw that the figure that had been touching her was a lobotomite as well. He gave a wave of his hand and began to lead the lobotomite that was carrying her further into the cavern depths.

Her head was spinning dizzily as they began to move again, but she was lucid enough to catch a glimpse of where they were going.

An operating table stood in one of the recesses of the cave, a bonesaw and scalpel lying discarded on its surface. Her eyes widened as she realised what the lobotomite had been feeling her neck for.

"What is it?" asked the suit. "Your heart rate just doubled."

"Gonna-" she slurred. "Gonna operate. Med-x. Please. Three?"

She wanted to scream as she was brought closer, but she could barely manage a whimper. As they began to remove the suit, though, her worries began to fade. One, two, three doses of med-x began to flow through her bloodstream, and her consciousness was fading even as they pulled the stealth suit from her back and lowered her to the table.

* * *

She opened her eyes to see a blurry face above her. Boone, again. He looked down on her, concerned.

"I fucked up," she said, her voice indistinct. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to end up like this. I shouldn't – shouldn't have pushed you so hard. Or- or anyone. I just wasn't – I didn't know what was right. I wish I could change things." She tried to blink away the fuzziness of her vision. "Please don't – don't leave me alone. Here."

She lifted a hand to his face, but it felt – wrong. "Cr- Craig?" Her throat was dry as sand.

The hand that caught her wrist was all wrong, too. The grip was strong, unconsidered, where Boone would be gentle, almost as if he were afraid of hurting her.

"You," the blur said. "Fixed." She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced her back down.

"What?" she asked desperately. "How?"

"B-bone-stem," he said, uncertainly. "Broken."

The blurriness was slowly fading from her vision. "Bone- oh. My… spine?" She was aware, now, of an ache at the back of her neck, though it was pushed far to the back of her mind by the med-x haze she could still feel. She sat up, slower this time.

The lobotomite in front of her had his goggles pushed high onto his forehead. "My spine was – replaced. It was meant to be stronger than my real one?"

"Broken," he said, again.

She ran her fingers up the back of her neck. It was bandaged with layers of gauze. "I don't understand. But – thank you."

He smiled, hopefully, and took her by the hand. He helped her off the table. She had been dressed in a thin, short, backless hospital gown, and she felt the hairs on her arms rise in the cool cave air.

As they began to walk, Verity began to see the cave properly for the first time. There were piles of rotting meat lying strewn around the place, and, to her alarm, ancient, decomposed parts of human corpses lying casually by sinks and fridges. She tensed, but the lobotomite held on to her hand firmly.

A pile of bones lay in one corner, both animal and human, partial and whole skeletons, carefully grouped together. The lobotomite led her around it and brought her to a halt in front of an ancient chalkboard. She stared at it, uncomprehending. He beamed at her.

More lobotomites came walking silently out of the darkness to watch her, standing warily in a loose semicircle as if they were expecting her to perform a trick.

"I don't know what you want," she choked out.

The lobotomite who had led her there pressed a piece of chalk into her hand and smiled at her. "Teach," he said.

She looked around, from one pale face to another, slack jaws and empty, hopeful stares.

At the lives they'd tried to rebuild; the familiar things they'd gathered, the tricycles and teddy bears and toy cars; a shrine dedicated to toasters, the ovens they'd dragged far away from power or gas, piled high with meat they didn't know could never be cooked. They remembered these things, they knew they were important, but there was no sign that they knew what they were or how they walked, and at last the corpses made sense. They'd been trying to use them to replace their missing brains.

_Teach._

She looked down at the chalk in her hand hopelessly. They wanted her to try and teach them what they were, what they'd lost. Because she was one of them.

She almost wanted to cry.

"Fuck," she said, instead, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Alright, I've got – I've got mentats." She wasn't sure they'd even work on them. "Um. I have books? Books that could teach you things, about…" she let her sentence trail off. They couldn't be able to read. She didn't even know if they could understand her. Books couldn't help them.

"I'm going to find out where your brains are," she said. "And – I don't know. Okay. I'm going to leave you the alphabet. And some numbers."

She turned to the chalkboard and began to write. Her stomach felt like stone.

* * *

"Dala," Verity said, forcing a smile that felt wrong onto her face. "I was wondering about the lobotomites."

"My beautiful empty-headed, big-eyed creatures. Of course."

"Can they learn things? At all?"

Dala's eye monitors tilted at a curious angle. "You seem to learn quite quickly."

Verity shook her head. "The others."

"Simple things, perhaps. They show little capability for academia, I'm afraid."

She bit her lip. "So – where are their brains?"

"Their brains?" Dala hadn't seem to consider it before. "I – well, with Mobius, perhaps, or even gone entirely. It has been rather a long time for some of them, and brains do degrade over time, even if properly preserved. And I believe the vast majority of the lobotomite brains were of… minimal interest once divested from their skinvelopes."

"Mobius might have them?"

Dala paused before answering. "I believe it is possible, however – unlikely. I do not believe even Mobius, with his nefarious plots, would have much use for a large number of human brains of varying ages. But," she said diplomatically. "The possibility exists, of course."

Verity's heart sank. Dala was right – from everything she'd seen so far there wasn't much that hadn't been left to waste and wither. She knew – guess she'd always known, really – there was nothing she could do to help them. She pressed her lips together hard. The Think Tank didn't care, barely even acknowledged they'd used to be the same species. They spoke about the lobotomites like lab-animals, like inconveniences once they were no longer useful.

"Pardon me for being impolite," Dala continued. "But have we had this discussion previously? Or maybe this is a conversation topic I've purged in the past?"

Verity was still staring at nothing. "Purged?" she asked, half-heartedly.

"Oh. Sometimes – infrequently, that is – certain thoughts and memory sequences become… unsafe to keep within our consciousness. So they must be partitioned and suppressed."

She looked up. "You take bits out of your memory? But – how can destroying your own knowledge make anything better ever?"

"You doubtless know that knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong hands."

"In your own hands?" She stared at Dala's monitors, trying to spot any sign of humanity remaining. The monitors glowed gently in the darkness of the Dome, but the images didn't move. The features probably hadn't even belonged to her as a human.

"Experience has shown us that not even we are safe. One of our visitors before you was able to take advantage of weaknesses in our security – you've heard Dr 8, no doubt. Reduced to communicating in RobCo soundwaves. A shame."

"Yeah," said Verity. "Yeah, that's a shame."

"Although he is a lot easier to get along with now," Dala added.

"Yeah. Um… I think I hurt my neck," Verity said. "I'm not quite sure what happened with it. Can you maybe check to see what's wrong?" She turned around.

Dala cooed gently as she scanned her.

"I think," she said at last. 'That the spine may have become partially detached from your Tesla coil receptors. A large enough impact could partially or totally sever the connection. In your case, it seems to have been an incomplete break, but it looks… messy. How unusual. It's a simple enough connection. Some damage has been done to the surrounding skin and flesh, but it is insignificant. Unlikely to cause you trouble unless you aggravate it further. I cannot help you with it now, but if you want it to be fixed, the Auto-Doc in your quarters, once upgraded, could help you with it."

Verity shivered, raising a hand to the back of her neck subconsciously. The lobotomites couldn't be as mindless as the Think Tank thought they were. They'd been able to help her – even if the connection was as simple as Dala said. They were human, still, no matter what had happened to them – which was more than she could say about the Think Tank.


	36. Day into Night Time

WHY HAS THIS TAKEN ME SO LONG?

IT IS A MYSTERY.

*hearts* for all of you.

* * *

"Cazadores," said Verity.

"Yes," said Borous proudly.

"And nightstalkers."

"Also yes."

"You asshole." Verity said. "You are the new 'worst person I've ever met'. And I've met some pretty terrible people." She paused. "I don't feel like I'm angry enough. Why am I not more angry?"

"The pacification field," Borous supplied helpfully. "It was designed to inhibit violent hormonal impulses. And I am delighted to see how well it is working!"

"What about deathclaws?" she asked. "Did you make deathclaws?"

He hovered uncertainly. "A death… claw? Who named that?"

"I don't know." She rubbed at her forehead. A headache was developing just behind her eyes, and from the pain that was just beginning to radiate out in spikes, it was going to be a big one. "It's like a huge lizardy thing. Claws and teeth and shit. Fast. Big."

"It sounds like it may have had somemilitary application," Borous mused. "I think – I remember a conference, once." He sounded almost confused. "I… presented a paper, and then afterward spoke to a man working on… working on what?" The lights of his tank flickered furiously. "Working on units that could be deployed in areas with large populations. Resistant to damage and highly effective in weakening opposition to invasion. Effective against military targets, too. I knew that sounded familiar. Deathclaw. Ha."

Verity squinted at him through the haze of her headache. "So you guys specifically created things to slaughter as many people as possible? That's great."

"Not people," Borous corrected. "_Communists_."

"Jesus-fucking-Christ," she said. "Maybe the fucking bombs were actually a good thing."

"It certainly provided us with a scope for innovation that may not have otherwise been possible. No civil rights lawyers, no ethicists to interfere."

"You're a monster," she said.

"If that's the way you feel," he said huffily. "Then I'll remove the dog armour prototype you asked for from the store in your quarters."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry. Um, no? You're very smart. And… better than… everyone."

"Of course!" he said. "And it's about time you realised it."

She sighed. "So. Dog armour?"

"Available to you upstairs."

The lighting in the sink sent a pulsating throb through her head, and she asked one of the lightswitches to change it to that soothing pink. It didn't help much. She licked her dry lips and sat down on the floor in front of the central unit. A fresh lance of pain bloomed behind her eyes as she looked into the neon glow.

"Christ," she said, indistinctly. "Is med-x good for headaches?"

"No!" exclaimed the stealth suit. "It dilates blood vessels, which is likely to make headaches a lot worse!"

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. "Well, it can't hurt to try, right?"

"I believe that sentence is inconsistent with my previous statement," the suit said carefully.

Verity's laugh came out sounding more like a rattle. "Yeah," she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Right. Um. Okay. What about buffout?"

The suit didn't reply.

Verity grinned. "So… buffout's good?"

"It has an anti-inflammatory effect that may prove to be beneficial." The stealth suit sounded reluctant.

"Good shit," she said, ignoring the murmured complaint of the stealth suit, and swallowed a handful while logging on to the store function of the central unit. She scrolled down until she found the armour.

"Seriously?" she asked. "Sixty thousand caps? Who would pay that much for dog armour?"

"That is the number Dr. Borous priced it at, sir," the central intelligence unit replied calmly.

"Well what the fuck is his problem?" she snarled.

"He did mention something about armchair psychologists," the unit offered apologetically.

"For fuck's sake." Verity rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'm going to have to sell you like half my shit to afford it, but fine. Don't get rid of it, because I'm going to come back here with all the proton axes and superheated saturnite fists ever. Got it?"

"Very good, sir."

* * *

Verity wasn't particularly good at drawing, even without the crippling headache. She was trying to draw simple objects in chalk on the blackboard to illustrate what she was talking about, but her attempt at a toaster looked more like a child's drawing of a boxy house. She stood back and glared at it, tempted to wipe the whole thing off the board and start again.

She'd just finished explaining that ovens wouldn't work if they weren't hooked up to gas mains, and before that was getting the lobotomites to help her move all the bits of dead people lying around out of the cave. That had worried her on its own, though; what else did they have left to eat? She could bring them all the old world food supplies she could find, but they wouldn't last forever

But one of the lobotomites pointed over to the shrine in the corner of the cave, and she put the chalk down with a smile.

Verity hadn't been able to figure out the toaster shrine. She assumed that the lobotomites had arranged the toasters in a sort of shrine because they were familiar and simple and comforting. But the black candles and skulls looked like they'd been placed intentionally, which would have taken far more sophistication than she'd seen in any of them so far.

"Okay," she said. "So, this is a toaster. Say 'toaster'."

The lobotomites, seated cross-legged on the cave floor in front of her, were silent.

"Right," she said, and pointed at one of them. "You say toaster."

The lobotomite she'd selected looked down at the ground.

Her heart sank. This was _pointless._ How had she thought she'd be able to come in here, draw a few lines on the blackboard, and somehow magically restore their intelligence and personality and memories and everything else that they'd lost?

"That's okay," she said, keeping her voice level by the barest of degrees. "So, what a toaster does-"

"Burn," said a lobotomite.

"What?" she asked.

"Fire," said another of them.

"Destroy," said a third.

"Okay, what the fuck." She took a step back, her hand started reaching for the pistol at her hip of its own volition.

The lobotomites' eyes seemed to be glowing with fervour in the dim light.

She began to edge towards the door, but they followed her. She wished desperately that she hadn't left Gabe back at the Dome – despite the protection that he could give, she'd thought he was too erratic and aggressive to be brought around large groups of people who could themselves be very unpredictable.

She started walking faster, heart racing, but the lobotomites stopped at the shrine. One of them picked up a small case and handed it to her.

"Toaster," he said.

She looked down at the case in her hands. There was a holodisk inside, marked 'toaster' in a scrawled, familiar hand.

"Uh, thanks," she said, shakily. "You guys scared the shit out of me, okay?"

"Okay!" one of them exclaimed cheerfully in response.

"Yeah," she said. "So let's end it here for today."

The flat blue sky outside had never looked so welcoming.

* * *

She strapped the pieces of armour onto Gabe carefully, making sure not to pinch his skin or catch his hair between the plates. The assembly diagram that had come with it seemed to be hastily-drawn-up and wasn't particularly useful, but she managed to get the plates into position without too much difficulty. The armour was fairly simple, made up of a number of carbon fibre plates that fit around his cyberdog plating; protecting his neck, braincase, and flanks while leaving his legs free. There was even a place on the neckpiece to mount the cyberdog gun so it could be rotated while mounted.

She reached up to give Gabe a scratch behind his ear. "Good boy!" she said. "I've got some… uh, hamburger stuff. Should really feed you something better, but there's not much in the way of wildlife out here other than nightstalkers and cazadores, and I'm fairly sure they're both poisonous. And no eating the lobotomites, okay? They're friends now."

He gulped down the meat she put in front of him.

"Good boy," she said. "Now, down."

He whined.

"What?"

He whined again.

"Is it chems?" she asked. "I'm pretty sure I shouldn't give you any more, I don't know how chems work on dogs." She stood back. "I guess you've got a lot of muscle mass, though. And god, I know how withdrawals suck. Buffout?"

He growled.

"I'm _not_ giving you psycho. Seriously, that stuff is bad shit. I don't even like it. And I can't give you jet, because – well, you're a dog, you kind of need person lips to huff it."

He barked at her once.

"Settle for buffout? Okay. Good boy." She handed over two pills, which were lapped up eagerly by his huge wet tongue.

He settled himself on the ground, and she climbed onto his back with some difficulty, grasping at the cracks in between plates to pull herself up.

She settled low over Gabe's shoulders as he ran, one hand on the mounted cyberdog gun, as they headed north. They passed the Forbidden Zone dome, with its bright lights and huge entranceway, and began to wind into the maze of narrow pathways that cut through the rock.

They slowed as they came to a mass of thick vines, hanging low between the two sheer faces of the walls on either side of them. The rest of the crater was dry and dead, she didn't think she'd seen another thing growing the entire time she'd been here.

Gabe moved slowly and silently, and Verity had to grip on hard to stay in place against the swing of his slow walk. As they got closer, she could see that they were approaching a destroyed building, a set of narrow steps leading up to what used to be the entrance.

She heard a thick liquid splat, and tapped on Gabe's neck to get him to stop. She looked around carefully for the slightest sign of movement for almost a minute before seeing it.

The spitter plants. Again. She saw one swaying gently, almost gracefully, as if in a breeze. It reared back to spit again, but Gabe sent a sonic blast towards it that knocked the jaws off the stem. A rustling noise coming from the ruined complex seemed to surround them as the plant fell to the ground.

She climbed down off Gabe, uneasily, giving him a pat as she slipped to the ground. The destroyed building was marked as X-22, and had long ago crumbled against the burrowing roots and climbing vines, flowers blooming wildly, bright and exotic. Snakelike tendrils wound around the broken shell of the building.

This is where it had started, then. Vault 22. She sneered. Some long-dead Vault-Tec employee had a fucking sense of humour.

A flicker of movement in the building above her caught her eye, but was gone before she could focus on it.

The eerie whisper of the plants as they moved seemed to echo in the narrow valley. She could hear a low growl coming from Gabe's throat behind her. She left the huge cyberdog gun where it was and drew her pistol.

She was halfway up the steps when the stealth suit spoke. "Really?" it asked. "Alone?"

She hesitated. "I just wanna see what's up there," she whispered. "I don't know, if there are any lab notes or anything. Plants grow really well around these things, we might be able to bring the lobotomites up here and they wouldn't have to live in their shitty old cave, but I don't want to take them here if they're just going to get sick and turn into plant people."

"Why don't you come back later with some lobotomites, then?" the suit asked hopefully. "You don't have to do everything for them by yourself. This place looks tough."

Verity squinted up at the ruins. "It'd probably go better if I had a flamethrower or something," she admitted.

"So why don't we leave now and go prepare?"

The vines around her seemed to be listening to her intently. "I could do that," she said uneasily, and turned and began to walk down the stairs again.

Something hard hit her from behind, and she fell headlong down the stairs, landing in a dazed heap with all the air knocked out of her lungs. She could feel something slicing at her back and head, and struggled to get up, but she was pushed back down again.

The suit was trying to say something, but she couldn't hear it over the ringing in her ears. She felt a pinprick and then the pain vanished. She managed to kick back and hit something solid, but it didn't seem to do much damage, only pausing for a second. It was just enough for Verity to wriggle around and fire her pistol three times, hitting the spore carrier in its mossy green chest. It began to leak clear fluid out of the bullet wounds. It looked down for a second, made a rattling noise, and leaped towards her again. She emptied the last two bullets in the clip into the spore carrier without much effect, then threw her arms up in front of her face to protect herself.

It never hit. She heard a loud crunching noise, and lowered her arms to see Gabe tearing into the monster viciously, the boneless form lying prone on the ground, missing a leg and leaking more of the clear sap into the dirt.

"Thought I told you not to do that," she said to the stealth suit as she began to hunt through her bag for stimpaks.

"Sorry," it said. "It's in my programming to administer med-x once past a particular threshold regardless of the wearer's expressed wishes."

Verity winced. "My headache's back."

"Sorry," the suit said again. At least she sounded genuine. Verity rolled her eyes.

Gabe gave a yelp and started to lick his paws, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. Verity opened a bottle of water from her bag and tipped it into his mouth.

"Good boy," she murmured. "Don't worry, it's not bad for you." She looked up at the research centre again. "So yeah. Better prep-"

A thunderous explosion obliterated the rest of her sentence, deafening her. She looked around wildly – it had seemed so close – and finally caught sight of a plume of thick black smoke back in the direction she'd come from.

"Think we should check that out?" she asked.

"Cautiously?" pleaded the suit.

Gabe barked happily.

"Alright then," she said. "Let's go."

* * *

OOPS ALSO: HAPPY BIRTHDAY FALLOUT NEW VEGAS (slightly late)


	37. Turning Night Into Daytime

Just a quick anti-porn scrub (permanent?)

* * *

The smoke rose thick and black into the sky. As they moved closer, she could hear a recorded message, repeating over and over.

"_The perimeter has been breached. Please remain calm and stand by for further instructions."_

The smoke was coming from the remains of the train tunnel next to the entrance to the Forbidden Zone Dome. The last time they'd passed it, abandoned rail cars had been scattered like toys outside, and the tunnel itself had been packed with debris and cement. Now the rail cars were nothing but red twists of metal lying scattered in a hundred-foot radius, the tunnel mouth a gaping hole in the mountain.

The sky was beginning to darken, and she could see the huge red gems that lined the paths glowing in the dimness.

There was something moving in the rubble. She swivelled the cyberdog gun, its metal ears pricking up.

Gabe started making a sound she'd only heard once before; a territorial snarl that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

It was Boone.

She sighed, slumping down in the armour's saddle. "I wish you were actually here," she said. "This place is fucked up and I don't know what's going on."

"Verity?" he asked, incredulously.

She blinked. "What?" she asked. He'd never spoken in her hallucinations before.

Another figure moved through the clouds of dust and smoke. "Are you riding a dog?" a familiar voice called out.

"Ronnie?" Verity straightened. "Is that - what the fuck? How did-"

"_Please remain calm and stand by for further instructions."_

"Your dog is terrifying!" called Veronica. "Why is he so big?"

Gabe was snarling ferociously at the intruders, and Verity patted him on the neck to calm him down. "It's okay," she said distractedly. "They're friends." She raised her voice again. "I think a bunch of chems?"

"See, I keep telling you chems are bad." Veronica grinned at her. "That's just not natural."

She saw Arcade picking his way carefully through the debris. The sensation of relief and familiarity began to wash over her, and she felt herself relaxing. "I can't - how are you even here?"

Veronica gestured behind her. A tiny figure stepped cautiously out of the destroyed tunnel.

She looked up, guardedly, and raised a hand.

"We found her already," Veronica called back. "I thought you said this place was huge and confusing."

Christine grimaced, and didn't reply. She seemed even smaller out here, somehow, and stayed close behind Veronica.

"_The perimeter has been breached."_

Raul was the last out of the tunnel, and he squinted up into the dying light. "Oh," he said. "Found her. Well, that was easy. Told you that you wouldn't need me along."

Veronica waved a hand at him vaguely.

Gabe was quieter, now, but she could still feel the rumble of the growl in his throat. She leaned forwards and tapped him on the nose lightly. "Stop that."

Boone was walking towards her. "Stay," she cautioned Gabe firmly, and slipped down from her seat.

He seemed tightly wound, like a coiled spring. "Verity, we need to g-" he began, but stopped short when he got close enough to see her properly through the dust.

She felt suddenly awkward, the long scars down her chest and spine and across her face burning. She was different, now.

"What did they _do to you_?" He lifted a hand to her face, traced the scar across her forehead.

She pulled away, just a little. "They- they took my brain out. It doesn't – hurt, it just… feels weird."

"They took your _brain_?" he repeated, in disbelief.

"That is not even possible," said Arcade.

"It's true. My brain and some other things," she said, miserably. "Heart. Spine. It's okay, I can fix it. Even-" she lifted her own hand to her forehead. "Even fix the scars. If I find the proper… autodoc… upgrade." She swallowed.

"_Please remain calm and stand by for further instructions."_

He swept her into a fierce hug. It took a moment before she was able to relax into it, his smell, his warmth against her, his stubble grating on her cheek.

"_Tremble in fear before the might of my – er, mighty army of robo-scorpions!"_

"Okay, that one sounded distinctly more menacing," said Arcade. "Although a poorly-formed sentence. What's going on here?"

Verity stepped back away reluctantly. "That's Mobius. He lives just through that door over there. He's – I don't even know what he wants. But he's got my brain."

"Well than, let's get it back," said Boone coldly, starting towards the Dome entrance.

"No no no," she said hastily. "I don't have all the things I need to put it back in, yet. And I don't know what's back there yet."

She raised her voice. "We have to leave here," she said. "I don't know what they're going to do to you if they catch you. You're not safe, they're – crazy. Dangerous. They're like children, they do whatever comes into their heads-"

"_Who_?" asked Boone. "Who are '_they'_?"

"They're brains in jars," she said bitterly. "They used to be people and now they're not. They're afraid of Mobius, so they won't come outside, but – I don't know what they'll try to do. They probably know you're here already – or maybe we're too close to Mobius' laboratory, I don't know what they can see. But it's not safe here, this place is…" she trailed off, looking around her. "I don't know where I can keep all of you."

"I know a place," Christine said, quietly. "South."

Verity offered her the pip-boy map so Christine could point it out.

"Just a cave," she said, touching the screen. "Near a big hangar, or a warehouse maybe."

"_Higgs_!" Verity exclaimed. "It's right next to Higgs Village. You could stay there, it's big and it has houses and the lobotomites never go inside."

"The _what_?" asked Arcade. "Did you just say what I think you did?"

Verity sighed. "Yeah. It's - this place doesn't make sense. They're people who had their brains taken out and they walk around like empty shells and they try to find things to remind them of themselves but there's just not enough left of them-" she paused to take a shaky breath. "And they're scared and angry and I think they only accept me because I'm like them too, sort of. But I don't think they'll be okay with a big group of – normal people."

Christine smiled humourlessly. "I haven't been inside," she said. "What's it like?"

"Creepy pre-war village. The doctors used to live in it." She noticed Christine mouth the word 'doctors', as if she were trying it out.

"Oh yeah," said Raul. "Great idea. We'll go stay in their houses. That sounds secure."

Boone's hands were clenched into fists at his side, but he stayed silent.

Gabe was lying down, watching the group balefully. Verity approached and scratched his huge ears with both hands.

"Up," she said. He got slowly to his feet. "He's a good boy," she said to the others reassuringly. "He knows heaps of commands. He's smart, too."

She turned back to the dog. "Aren't you?" she cooed. He licked her face with his huge tongue, and she stumbled back, spluttering. "Ugh." She backed off. "Go scout," she commanded. "Keep things away _but don't kill anything_."

He took one more dubious look at the group before bounding away.

Verity led the group on a winding path, while still trying to get the group to safety as fast as possible. She skirted around the major research centres and landmarks, and avoided areas the lobotomites liked to haunt. They walked close together, trying not to attract attention.

"So," Verity asked, after they came out into the open, and she was relatively sure they were alone. "How did you figure out where I was?"

"Well," Veronica said. "When you disappeared, we, uh, had a variety of opinions on what we should do about it. Boone wanted to try find a way to go through after you, but then Arcade said that he couldn't even guarantee that you were still alive and hadn't been - I don't know, vaporised or something, or teleported into space where you couldn't breathe, it's a satellite after all – which, you know, Boone wasn't really that happy about. But then Arcade said that it looked like pretty advanced technology, and it reminded me of some of the stuff Christine had told me about what she'd seen in the Big Empty - so I went back to get her. The Brotherhood thinks you owe us a favour, now, though." She grinned. "That tunnel was the way she got out last time. We didn't know it had been sealed, though. Took a lot of hastily-improvised explosives to get through that lot, too."

Her smile was such a welcome sight that Verity thought she could almost feel her heart aching. She hugged Veronica impulsively. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

Veronica gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. "Oh, shh. As if I could just be like 'oh well, team, guess we should go back home now', and leave you missing and all alone. I'd have no one to fund my research habits, for one thing."

Verity turned back to Christine. "And thank you so much for- are you alright?"

Christine was pale and wide-eyed, her hands clasped together tightly in front of her chest. "This place," she said. "It's-" she closed her mouth abruptly.

"I'm sorry," said Verity. "It must be hard being back. You don't have to stay if you don't want to, you could take Ronnie and head back?"

Christine smiled at the use of the shorter form of Veronica's name. "It's okay," she said. "I need to face things here. Everything that hurt me, or scared me. I want to prove that I'm stronger than they are. Maybe I should be thanking you. You gave me another chance. A lot of other chances. And I'm not going to let myself down again."

"So how come the rest of you all came along for the ride?"

"Eh," said Raul. "Nothing better to do, boss. It's not like I just got back from a long trip or anything."

"I'm not going to lie," said Arcade. "This place sounded really interesting."

Verity grinned at Raul, then turned to Arcade. "That's adventurous of you," she said, teasingly. "I thought you weren't into fortune and glory."

"Fortune sounds nice," he said. "Getting shot at less so. Feel like showing me anything particularly interesting later?"

Verity grimaced. "I could probably manage that, if we're quick and quiet. You could maybe help with a couple of things I'm trying to figure out."

"I'll look forward to it."

The hangar moved slowly into view, under the shadow of the huge satellite tower of the antenna array. Verity looked up at the tower uncertainly, at the antenna that she'd been putting off collecting, glowing blue in the darkening night.

Higgs Village was almost eerie in the dimness. With such a large group of people, the tiny settlement seemed like it had been invaded. Violated, somehow. They didn't belong there, didn't seem right.

"I'm taking 101," she said, ignoring the feeling. "104, I think, is the creepiest; 00 doesn't have a proper bed; and it's best not to go downstairs in 103. It's been a long day for all of us. We'll talk in the morning."

After the group had split themselves among the various houses, she brought Gabe inside , leading him around the back of the houses carefully. He sniffed at his old doghouse, poked his nose inside carefully, then settled on the ground next to it and curled up.

Boone followed her inside.

"Christ," she said, closing the door behind them. "Do you want a drink?"

He shook his head.

She poured herself a glass of scotch from the bar.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, eventually.

She raised a hand to her forehead. "No," she said. "Well, maybe if I like press on it. But not really. It's weird, though. Heavy. I can't move how I used to; my muscles are still kind of getting used to it."

She gulped down her drink and stared into her empty glass. "Sorry," she said, into the silence. "I didn't mean – for you – for everyone to have to chase after me. I didn't find anyone we were looking for. The mercs we hired. Probably not people anymore." She laughed bitterly. It caught in her throat. "Not really, anyway. I'm just glad no one else was hurt coming to find me."

She cast a sidelong glance at him. He hadn't moved, standing by the stairs, watching her, letting her fill up the air with words. "Are you angry?" she asked.

He shook his head, though she wasn't sure how truthful the denial was. "Should have come through after you," he said.

"Fuck," she said. "No. I'm glad you didn't. You'd be gone. You wouldn't be_ you_ any more. Well. Maybe there'd still be a tiny spark left. Enough to realise what you'd lost."

"You don't seem so different."

"I'm the first person that it's worked on," she said, feeling lightheaded. "Can you imagine that? More than two hundred years and they've just kept churning out mindless drones one after another. I don't know what makes me any different."

She poured herself another drink. "I'm trying to help them," she said, hurriedly. "The lobotomites. They don't deserve to live as scavengers here. They're still people – at least a little, and they still know fear and friendship and – small things about what it means to be human." She bit down on her lip. "I don't think there's much I can do for them."

She moved towards him, just the smallest of steps, almost involuntary. He closed the rest of the gap between them and took her into his arms gently. "You don't have to fix everything for everyone else," he said. "Leave something for you as well."

"No one else is going to do anything," she mumbled against him. "I can't just ignore-"

She was cut off as he kissed her roughly, hungrily, reaching for the fastenings of her armour.

She froze. "I'm – scarred," she said. "I don't want you to see."

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"I don't care what you think," she said, the words coming out more forcefully than she'd intended. "I look – ugly."

"Never," he said, his voice rough. He took hold of the chestpiece of her armour and began pulling it open gently.

"Don't," she said, but didn't move to stop him. She turned her head away.

He peeled away the suit slowly, exposing an angry red scar that began at her sternum and ran down, between her breasts, almost to her navel. He traced a finger along it softly.

"Verity," he said. She turned her head back towards him, lips pressed tightly together, and stared defiantly into his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, sliding his hand under the armour at her neck, and sliding it to her shoulder, peeling the close-fitting armour away from her skin.

"Well _hello_, handsome!" said the suit. "Aren't you even going to introduce yourself before undressing us?"

Boone was halfway across the room away from her before she'd even seen him move. "What the hell is that?"

"Oh my fucking god, what are you doing?" she snarled at the suit. "You have the worst fucking timing."

"I just thought we should get better acquainted," the suit said plaintively.

"I'll permanently acquaint you with the inside of a fucking closet if you don't stop trying to cock-block me," she snapped. "So stop being a bitch."

"Okay!" exclaimed the suit. "Fine! Sorry!" And it fell silent.

Verity looked up at Boone sheepishly. "It's, um. A stealth suit. With a computer thing in it. And someone coded a personality for it. And she's- uh, _it's_ very high-maintenance."

Boone was staring at her. "Can it still hear us?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Sorry," said the suit.

Boone took another step back, his eyes wary.

She stepped out of the suit hurriedly, carefully folded it, and left it on the bench in the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to make you mad," it said quietly.

"Oh, honey," she said. "It's okay. It's not you. It's a human thing. I'll talk to you later."

She walked back into the lounge, smiling apologetically, and returned hesitantly to Boone's arms. She leaned into him, and shivered as he traced a finger down the scar along her spine.

He kissed her throat; her collarbone; the scar over her heart, ignoring the way she flinched.

She didn't respond until he stopped, came back to her face, and brushed her lips with a thumb. "Verity," he whispered, concern in his eyes.

And then she was tearing at his jacket, lifting the thin shirt he wore underneath over his head.

She could feel him pressing hard against her, and he lifted her and pinned her up against the wall, with enough force to knock one of the paintings down.

She could feel the muscles in his arms straining. "Um," she said. "You're probably not going to be able to keep holding me up, my replacement brain and spine are really heavy. Sorry." She grinned at him as he let her down, and after a moment he smiled back, shaking his head.

"Couch?" she asked. "Or there's a bedroom upstairs. Break some bedsprings?"

She laughed as he chased her upstairs.


	38. If You See It Once

Because Christine deserves more. SO MUCH MORE.

* * *

Verity opened her eyes blearily. There was a noise. A banging noise. It meant something. She sat up in bed, dislodging Boone's arm which had been thrown across her waist.

The noise had stopped by the time she had struggled to her feet. Verity grabbed a man's shirt from the wardrobe anyway, and buttoned it as she ran down the stairs.

She opened the door to see Christine standing there, watching the door warily, her arms folded. It was still dark.

"Hey," she yawned. "What's up?"

Christine took a deep breath. "I want to – visit some places," she said carefully. "Would you come with me?"

Verity rubbed sleep out of one of her eyes. "Yeah, okay," she said. "Now?"

Christine nodded, once.

"Alright," said Verity. "Let me just get dressed. Wanna pick up Ronnie on the way out?"

"No," Christine said, bluntly.

Verity's eyebrows drew together. "Alright," she said, again. "You can come inside to wait, if you like. I'll only be a few minutes."

Christine closed the door quietly behind her as Verity retrieved her armour from the kitchen and crawled into it in the dimness. She grabbed her weapons and bag, and was almost out the door before she paused guiltily.

"I should really – you know. Tell Craig I'm going out," she said.

Christine nodded.

Verity climbed the creaking stairs, and bent over the bed. "Hey," she whispered. "I'm just going to head out with Christine for a couple of hours. We'll be back-"

She jumped as he caught her by the wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for being mostly asleep.

"No," he said.

"We'll be back before you're awake," said Verity.

Boone didn't let go.

"I'm coming with you," he said. "You're not going alone."

"I'm not alone, I'm with Christine." She tried to pull her hand away gently. "She's tough as shit, we'll be fine."

"Don't care." He let her go and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You're not going without me."

Christine looked at Boone guardedly, but didn't say anything. Verity let the other two leave before letting Gabe out of the hangar, handing over the last two boxes of Salisbury steak she had, and telling him to behave himself while she was away.

The twin domes beaming coloured light into the air were the only bright spots in the darkness, creating pools of red and blue light that spread out over the crater. Christine checked Verity's pip-boy and then led them north, under and along the huge pipes that snaked over the crater.

They climbed up a set of stairs that led through a bombed-out entranceway and into another facility. There was a red stars and stripes symbol painted on the door. Christine touched it with a finger lightly as she moved past.

The interior opened out into a large room with metal catwalks creating a second level overhead. There was an auto-doc buried in rubble in the centre of the room. In one corner, a forcefield barrier was blocking an open door.

Christine led, slowly, every muscle tensed, moving slowly around the edges of the room.

Verity caught a flicker of movement on the catwalk above and motioned for the others to stop, but it was too late.

A figure in a red uniform was running down the stairs towards them. As it got closer, she could see its sightless eyes; its manic grin. Her eyes widened. It was a skeleton, long dead, flesh stripped from the bones.

Boone took aim at the skeleton. It was running blindly yet unerringly towards them, and began to shoot in their direction with the laser rifle it held.

The gunshot was painfully deafening in the enclosed, metal –panelled room, and Verity staggered, almost losing her balance, as her ears rang. She looked up. Boone had shot the skeleton straight through the skull, but somehow it was still running. Christine raised her gauss rifle and sent a blast straight through its chest, disintegrating the skeleton's torso. It dropped to the ground.

"The fuck was that?" asked Verity. She couldn't even hear herself speak.

Boone was waving her away, and she stepped back, confused. A gout of flame sprayed past her. She looked up, through the thin metal of the catwalk. It was a variant of one of those pre-war utility robots, hovering above her.

Christine circled around it, firing shots into the chassis. The robot spun slowly, unable to focus on her.

Verity dug through her bag. Hadn't the think tanks given her a weapon that looked more or less like the pulse gun she'd found with Veronica so long ago? She took out the glowing weapon from her bag, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The robot was hit by the soundwave and was thrown backwards in a tangle of metal limbs.

Christine and Boone both turned to look at her, but she was staring down at the gun in surprise. "Wasn't really expecting that to happen," she said. "But it opens forcefields too, I think. Like that one." She gestured at the door in the corner of the room and demonstrated.

Christine pressed her lips together in a forced smile. "Thanks," she said. "Through here, then."

The door led to a row of cramped cages, filthy mattresses on the cold metal floor, separated by rusty metal bars.

Boone scanned the room, noted it was empty, and went out the door again to check the upstairs area.

Christine walked slowly to the second-to-last cell. The floor was covered in blood, so much of it, surely too much for a person to have lost and lived. The cell door had been completely torn off.

Christine stepped inside cautiously, and crouched to touch a tiny Brotherhood of Steel symbol that had been scratched into a stone pillar. She took a shaky breath.

"I wasn't expecting to get out of here alive," she said quietly, mostly to herself. "I guess I shouldn't have."

She lifted a corner of the mattress. There was a holotape tucked just under it. She smiled, bitterly, and handed it to Verity.

"Do you want me to play it?" she asked.

Christine shrugged and turned back to the cell. She touched the dried blood on the floor with a finger, brown flakes coming off under her touch.

"Are you freaking out a little?" asked Verity. "I shouldn't have brought you here."

Christine looked up, her green eyes flashing**.** "I'm okay," she said harshly. "Do what you want."

Verity slotted the tape into her pip-boy.

"_This is Christine Royce-"_

For a moment she couldn't figure out why their voices didn't match.

"…_not going to make it through this."_ Her voice was shaky on the tape.

"Turn it off," said Christine. Verity reached for her pip-boy, but Christine held up a hand. "Wait – no. Leave it."

"_Junkyard of pre-war labs scattered across the crater's surface…"_

Christine's face was like stone as she listened to her old voice on the tape.

"_Got hit by the explosions. Woke up here."_

"Are you okay?" asked Verity. Christine nodded impatiently.

"_Wait – an explosion outside. Someone's here."_

The tape ended.

"So you got rescued," said Verity carefully.

"Yes," said Christine evenly.

"By who?" she continued.

Christine's eyes narrowed slightly. "A courier."

"The one you told Veronica about."

"Yes."

"The one who's looking for me."

Christine shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. "He's not – looking for you," she said. "Not – exactly."

"So what _is_ he looking for?" asked Verity, her eyes cold.

"I don't know if even he could tell you that." Christine smiled mirthlessly, but it was gone almost as quickly as it arrived. "Look , I – I owe him a lot. He saved me. When I thought I had nothing more to look forward to than more surgery, cutting away at my brain until I was like everyone else in this place."

"And you don't owe me a goddamn thing, is that what you're saying?" The corner of Verity's mouth lifted in something approaching a smile.

"That's not what I'm saying," said Christine quietly. "I just don't know what I can tell you that would help you at all."

"How about a name?" Her patience was wearing down.

Christine sighed. "He goes by Ulysses. I don't know what his real name is. If he has one."

Boone had somehow materialised in that silent way he had. She didn't know how long he'd been listening. "That Legion?" he asked.

Christine shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't seem to think the Legion had all or any of the answers."

"I've never heard of him," said Verity irritably. "This is fucking ridiculous. What does he want from me?"

Christine looked at her searchingly. "He said you destroyed something important."

Verity sighed. "Okay. Whatever. I don't remember shit. I don't even know why I bothered asking. Let's move out."

The sun was rising over the mountains as they left the research centre for the next destination Christine had selected.

They walked on, navigating wide berths around facilities or groups of wandering lobotomites. At last buildings thinned out, and they were able to see for miles in the breaking dawn.

Boone walked ahead, scanning the horizon, raising his hand for them to stop whenever he saw movement.

The two girls followed at a discreet distance.

Christine opened a tin of mentats. The quiet scrape of the metal case made the hairs on Verity's arms stand up. Christine took two out and swallowed them, then offered the tin to Verity. She took one.

"Thought you had the look about you," said Christine quietly, out of Boone's hearing. "There's this type of tightness around the eyes – photosensitivity, possibly – and, well, the headaches, of course."

"It's just lately," said Verity guiltily. "Not having a brain in my head apparently makes things harder to do. I just feel so slow. Like I'm not actually completely here."

Christine nodded. "Since the – experiments – I haven't been able to think properly," she said. "These don't make me feel like I used to, exactly – but when I take them I can almost remember… Remember what it was like." She looked down at the tin in her hands. "There are so many things I can't do any more," she said, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "I just wish I could _read_."

"Sorry," said Verity. "I guess things are worse for you."

Christine smiled. "Not like it's a competition," she said.

Verity watched Christine, sidelong, as she walked. She was hard to read, kept everything inside. "Why didn't you want Veronica to come?" she asked.

Christine turned to her, studying her face. "I didn't-" she began, then sighed. "She's got this – _thing_ she does. You might have seen it. If you tell her about something bad that's happened to you, she gets this _look_." She folded her arms. "Her eyes get all big and sad and sympathetic and you feel like you're hurting her just by talking to her about it-" she broke off and ran a hand over her bald head. "And then she'll try to find something to say to make you feel better, and - and I can't handle that right now. It's easier to deal with her when she's mad."

"She'll still be hurt that you don't trust her," said Verity quietly.

"I _do_ trust her," said Christine, half-heartedly. "But – yeah." She looked down at the ground. "I know. She doesn't deserve-" she raised a hand in a half-shrug. "Doesn't deserve everything I am."

"She doesn't care," said Verity.

"That makes it worse."

Verity didn't reply.

They approached another mostly-destroyed building, little more than a couple of crumbling walls and a ramp made out of debris.

"This is where – well. I guess where things went wrong." Christine paused with a hand on the crumbling stone building. "Elijah – knew I was here. I don't know how. Maybe I wasn't careful enough. I knew I was getting close, maybe I just – got sloppy." She shrugged.

Verity followed her as she began to climb a pile of debris to the second floor.

Christine crouched by one of the corners and picked up a long black rifle. She touched the scope gently. "This was made for me," she said quietly. "Well, put together for me. I didn't – I don't really have the upper-body strength for most sniper rifles, but they made this one lighter. Less of a kick, too. But if you aim right, it'll take down a deathclaw in one shot." She gave Verity a tight smile, and then suddenly held out the weapon. "Why don't you take it?" she said bitterly. "It's not mine any more."

"Really?" asked Verity, not reaching for it.

Christine lowered the rifle. "If you don't want it-"

"Well – I do," said Verity reluctantly. "It's been ages since I've had a decent scoped rifle. It's just – it's yours. I don't want to take it off you."

Christine gave her a half-smile and touched the weapon on her back. "I've always been a little better with energy weapons," she said. "This was for assassinations; you can't silence a gauss rifle. I haven't taken on any more assassination assignments and I don't know if I will. Or – can. You take it."

Verity took it. "Thanks," she said, awkwardly. "So, where to now?"

Christine looked over at the camp's watchtower. "Last stop," she said. "Somewhere I didn't make it last time."

They made a wide circle around the high barbed-wire fence that bordered the camp, and climbed the steps up to the guard tower. Boone opened the door cautiously, sweeping the room before motioning them to follow him inside.

Electronics were scattered over the floor, sensor modules and long coils of wiring lying in haphazard piles.

Christine picked her way across the floor to check the computer. Verity watched her face as she checked the data on it, impassive in the reflected glow of the computer screen.

"Mm," said Christine. "Knew I was there. God damn it."

"How did you get caught?" asked Verity.

"There was an explosion." said Christine. "He sent the ghouls after me, then blew them up. Elijah perfected his collars here before taking them to the Sierra Madre." She gestured at the scattered components on the floor.

"Ghouls?" asked Verity.

Christine nodded. "Down in the camp. I don't know how he set them off at the right time, or sent them towards my position."

Verity frowned. "Any still there?"

Christine shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Last I saw of them was when one exploded in my face."

Verity opened the door and looked out over the camp, silent in the dawn. The gates were wide-open. It seemed deserted.

She walked down the stairs, one hand on the railing, watching the camp for signs of movement. She stepped through the open gate cautiously, Boone close behind her. There were four large tents set up, with rows of steel bunks for the prisoners. Most of the mattresses for the bunks were piled at one end of the camp. As she came around the corner of a tent, she saw a figure lying down on the ground. She stopped.

It was a ghoul, pressing his lips against a damp patch of earth, trying to suck moisture from the surface. She stopped, but she must have made a noise, an indrawn breath, a sudden movement back, because he looked up at her with milky eyes and said something in a language she didn't understand. He scrambled to his feet and began to run towards her.

"No no no," said Verity, holding a hand up. "You stay there."

She began to back away, quickly. "Don't shoot," she said to Boone, but as she turned she saw another prisoner approaching from the side.

"Fuck," she muttered, changing direction again. "They can't leave the camp," she hissed. "Run."

They ran.


	39. You'll Never Be

Sorry this has taken like forever -_- SKYRIM. You know, I don't even like it as much as New Vegas (for example) but there's SO MUCH TO DO.

I don't think I've posted this before (though I have told a couple people), but I read something by one of the devs (Sawyer, fyi) that romances were meant to be included in the game. Cass' arc was meant to end with the player completing her quest and then the two of them getting drunk together and waking up married.

But it had to be cut (quite early on, I think) because they didn't have enough time :(

* * *

They sprinted for the gates, not daring to look behind them. Verity could hear the pounding feet behind her, almost drowned out by the pounding of her own heart as she ran. She'd covered almost fifty feet before she realised she couldn't hear the feet anymore.

She turned back. Boone had stopped earlier, having realised they weren't being followed, and was watching the camp.

The ghoul dropped to his knees in the dirt, and let out a wordless wail of – she wasn't sure, despair or anger, and leant his head against the metal post next to the open gate.

"They can't leave the camp," Christine explained, looking over the guard tower railing as Verity slowly walked back. She stopped a cautious distance away from the ghoul.

"Why are you here?" she asked. He looked up at her, milky eyes dull, and didn't reply.

"What do you want?" she continued, frowning at him. Still no answer. She put a hand on her hip.

"E- excuse me." A raspy voice made her look up. A ghoul was standing stiffly just inside the open gate, hunched and wizened. "Please f-forgive our welcome," he continued, in heavily-accented English. "It has been – quite some time "We are... Unused to visitors." He cast an uneasy look at Christine. "Those that do not seek to harm us, to be particular."

"Well, who are you?" she asked.

"Shun Tze," he said, with a slight bow. "Please – forgive my English. It has been a long time since I last used it."

Verity's heart began to slow down. "Are you - pre-war?"

The ghoul laughed quietly. "Which war?" he asked. I have seen several."

She looked at him blankly. "The big one."

"Of course." He smiled. "Please disregard an old man's attempts at humour. Jokes about things that were not funny. Yes, I was there. We were all there. The sky - was a thousand colours. And the smoke and ash lasted for - weeks, it must have been. Although it seemed longer. How - how long has it been, if I could intrude upon you to ask?"

"Um," said Verity. "I don't know. When was the war again?"

"It's been two hundred years," Christine cut in.

He nodded. "It's surprising - how each day seems to merge with the next. Weeks into months into years. Decades. Centuries. All out here under this sky." He seemed to force a smile. "One becomes… philosophical about such matters. It is not our place to question what has been decided for us."

"What happened?" Verity asked. "Afterward, I mean." She looked around the camp. A small group had gathered. Ghouls in white prison jumpsuits stood at a distance, watching her with wary eyes.

"They stopped coming," he answered. "For almost a week. We thought we were the only ones left alive in the world. After that – it began again. Slowly. And when people began developing this-" he gestured at himself, the others around them- "this disease – then the experiments began once more. They took blood, bone, tissue. I do not know what, if anything, they discovered. There used to be two hundred of us in this camp. Now – this. Less than thirty." She followed his gaze. Off to one side of the camp was a small forest of low wooden crosses.

"After a while," he continued. "Things seemed for the guards to get out of hand. Robots turned against their masters. Monsters escaped from their cages. The gates that locked us in became more protection than prison."

Verity turned to Christine. "You must be able to turn the location sensor thing for the collars off from that computer up there, right?" she asked. "So they can leave. And there must be a way to shut it off completely, they can't just leave them on forever."

Christine looked from her to the guard tower. "Yeah," she said. "Probably. I doubt it's controlled anywhere else, this seems to be the only place that uses this technology in the Big Empty. I'll go see what I can do."

Verity turned back to Shun Tze. "Okay," she said. "We're going to turn the collars off, so you can – leave, I guess." She frowned. How far could they get with the clothes on their backs and nothing else? She bit her lip. "If you stay here, though, I can bring you food, until we're ready to leave. And water. It's – dangerous out there. And I don't have anywhere else to put you."

Shun Tze smiled regretfully. "Full of hungry ghosts," he said sadly. "In time, of course, I realised why we were here. What we were for."

"And what were you here for?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"Surely you know the answer within yourself already," he said, gently. "For _science_."

Verity turned to look around her, at the facilities scattered over the vast plain. In the distance she could see the high peaks of the carved-out mountain, the huge vines from the X-22 research centre reaching wildly into the air.

"For science," she repeated, quietly.

He smiled. "You have seen enough of this place to know what I mean. It is written on your face."

She nodded; a tight, tiny movement. "They just- they just took you?"

"They came in the night. They told us that we were being moved for our own safety. And it was believable, too – anti-Chinese sentiment was not uncommon at the time. Slashed tyres. Setting fire to letterboxes. It was only a matter of time before it became violent. And that – that was the last time I saw my wife."

Verity grimaced. "What were you – before?"

"I was a teacher," he said. "In one of your high schools. Chemistry. The rest of us – dock workers. Chefs. Writers. Parents. We have lost – so many." He looked out over the crater. "It seems so long ago," he said. "Like a dream. A different world."

"It's been rebuilt," she said awkwardly. "Some of it. Since the bombs. But – I don't think it'll be anything like how you remember it."

He smiled again, sadly. "Then we will adjust, once more. What else can we do?"

"I'll – I'll help you settle in. If you want. Or – I guess San Francisco still has a large Chinese community. If that would be easier? I don't even…" She trailed off, lost.

"Why don't we start by leaving this place?" Shun Tze suggested gently. "While some of us have little memory of the lives we used to lead – we cannot stay here. Here there is nothing. We are nothing."

The collar he was wearing made a quiet beeping sound. She jerked away reflexively, but nothing happened. The tiny red light set into the collar flickered and died.

"Is it-" he began, lifting his hands to his neck.

"Don't touch it!" she said, more strongly than she'd meant to. "Sorry. There's probably some sort of tamper-proofing thing going on. They might be triggered if you're not careful about it."

The door in the guard tower slammed. "We're good!" Christine called down.

The ghouls didn't move, even when Shun Tze translated for them. He turned back to Verity with a resigned shrug. "A habit of two hundred years is hard to break."

She smiled weakly. "I'll be back later. With food. And someone who can take the collars off. I had one for a bit too, you see."

"Until then." Shun Tze made another of his polite bows.

Verity's smile was strained.

* * *

She kept turning back as they headed back towards Higgs Village, watching the camp as it faded into the haze.

Boone hung back to walk alongside her. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low.

She didn't know how to answer. "I guess," she said at last, finally. "What do you -" she closed her mouth abruptly.

His fingers brushed against the back of her hand as she walked, and she smiled without looking up. "Told me once I couldn't fix everything," she said quietly. "I guess you were-" she broke off again.

Boone walked alongside her, silent.

"I never expected to find anything this bad, you know?" she asked, after a while. "I mean, even – even the vaults… though probably – probably the worst we saw of those began here too. Twenty-two, the plants… that was intentional. Not some accidental colossal fuckup." She bit her lip. "I've never thought much about what things were like before the bombs fell. Sometimes I'd try to imagine what old buildings were like when they worked and thousands of people worked in them. Like McCarran, you know? Someone told me the stairs used to move on their own, and the baggage got carried out by machines, and hundreds of aeroplanes used to take off and land every day." She looked up at him searchingly. He was watching her through his sunglasses. "I thought that was what the old world was like. Not – not this."

Boone gave her a sad smile. "People are always going to be people."

"People are _horrible_," she said, louder than she'd meant. Christine turned her head slightly, but didn't comment.

"Can be," he said, eyes dark behind the sunglasses.

"It's not fair," she said, hating how petulant she sounded. Like a child.

"Not much is."

She couldn't argue with that. She touched him lightly on the hip with her thumb, in acknowledgement, but fell silent.

As they got closer to the hangar, Verity could hear barking. She broke into a run. Gabe shouldn't have been able to get inside, but if the others had wandered out – or if he'd run into a band of lobotomites – things could get messy very quickly. She never should have let him roam free.

She rounded the corner, Boone and Christine close behind, to see Gabe growling. Raul, Arcade and Veronica were standing a few feet away.

"Gabe," she snapped, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "What are you – oh."

The object of Gabe's attention was a cyberdog. She thought it was Rex for a moment, although a second glance revealed that the Legion paint – which she'd never quite been able to get off – wasn't there.

The cyberdog was rolling around on its back meekly. Gabe snapped at it, once, but it seemed to be more a token gesture than real aggression. The smaller dog whined.

Gabe took a step back.

"Hey!" Veronica stage-whispered at her. "I made a cyberdog!"

"You _what_?" asked Verity, barely able to hear herself over Gabe's snarl. "_Gabe_," she growled. "Fucking _behave_."

He made a whining noise in the back of his throat and backed off a little. The smaller cyberdog got up and trotted over to Veronica.

"Her name is Roxie," she said, proudly. Roxie's tail wagged. "She's a bit shy. She was _hell_ to try and get out of the facility. Just didn't want to follow." Veronica reached down to pat her affectionately.

"I told you to stay in the village," said Verity half-heartedly. "It's dangerous out here."

"Well, when I got up, you'd taken off," said Veronica, stiffly. "So I thought I'd head on out to see what was around. It's not like I went on my own."

Gabe whined again and lay down. Verity relaxed a little.

"Okay," she said. "You made that dog?"

Veronica grinned. "Yeah! It was the only thing Arcade would let me make."

Arcade frowned. "I wasn't that happy with the cyberdog splicing tape, to be honest. But there was no way I was going to let you splice a nightstalker with anything."

"So you were okay with the human-robot splicing tape?" asked Raul. "Because I think I still have that one somewhere if you want to head back."

Arcade grimaced and took off his glasses. "Don't even joke about that," he said. "This place - it isn't what I expected."

"Yeah," Verity agreed glumly.

"What's up with the all the nightstalkers anyway?" asked Veronica. "I thought they liked mountains."

"Uh, there are like two answers to that," said Verity. "The first is that the 'MT' in 'Big MT' stands for mountain. The second is that one of the asshole scientists here invented them."

Arcade smiled humourlessly. "I think I remember having a conversation with you once about nightstalker origins. I was not expecting to have those questions answered so definitely. Least of all here."

Verity returned the smile. "This place has answered more questions than I really wanted to know," she said. "And I don't think we're done yet. I guess if everyone's here we might as well keep moving. The think tanks have to know about you by now and there are some places I want you to see. Let's move."

* * *

Thanks also to Verpine for getting the 200th review! :D


	40. The Same Again

In Skyrim, there ain't no problem that can't be solved with a two-handed warhammer.

why is everyone set to hostile I just want to talk to you ;_; i have killed 722 people (and i remember each one (not really))

* * *

As the group walked across the baked brown earth of the crater, Verity was struck by how quiet it was. There was nothing living here. Not really. No birds circling overhead, no plants to rustle in the breeze.

Only the packs of nightstalkers, skulking in the dirt, and the roving bands of lobotomites managed to scrape together an existence.

She watched out for either of these groups carefully. A couple of times she spotted one or two nightstalkers, watching from a distance, unwilling to engage with a group as large as the one she was leading. Thing was, she never saw more than a few at a time; a flick of a tail here, a flash of fur there, and never from the same direction. She felt oddly threatened by their lack of action.

The lobotomites were a little harder to deal with. Seemingly without any form of leadership or consensus, they followed the group over the crater, taking the odd poorly-aimed potshot before Verity rode over and asked them to stop. They stared at her uncomprehendingly before melting away back into the crater's pockmarked surface.

She stared after them a long time, unable to imagine what they must be thinking or feeling or even seeing. She bit her lip hard and swallowed another two mentats, relieved as the sense of cold, clinical dispassion washed over her. She wheeled Gabe around to meet back up with the others.

They were back outside Mobius' dome. She paused at the door. While it was made of thick steel and painted with "HAZARDOUS AREA KEEP OUT", wasn't particularly threatening. Verity didn't know what she was expecting. A moat of lava, maybe. Sentient robo-scorpions. A laser beam field that could slice bits of you off if you stepped through it wrong. She frowned at it and kept walking.

"What are these crystals?" Arcade touched one of the huge glowing stones gingerly. "It's warm."

"I have no idea," said Verity. "Only thing they do that I can see is provide a light source for the canyon. I doubt it's natural, but they're all over the place. I really can't tell you what's up with them." She felt an idea spark in her mentats-enhanced consciousness. "Oh, _hey_, they might act as sort of night-storage energy sources. Absorb energy from the sun in the daytime and let it out slowly overnight. They're glowing-" she tapped on the crystal's surface "-so they're obviously releasing some form of energy, but unless there's some sort of chemical process going on inside them to make this light…" She pressed her nose against the crystal, trying to see inside. "Or if they're reacting with the surrounding soil in some way to create energy, then my best guess is solar power, somehow. Oh god, if we could harness this it'd be amazing!" She looked back up at Arcade, eyes wide and full of excitement.

He was looking at her strangely. So was Boone.

"Or… something?" she said.

"That's – that's a good idea," said Arcade, slowly. "And one which we should definitely look into. Try and hold onto that theory, okay? We can discuss it more later."

"Yeah," she said. "Sure thing."

They followed the trail as it wound into the narrow canyon, and stopped at the ruin of the Y-0 research centre.

"Did this – cause the event which turned the mountain into a crater?" asked Veronica.

"I'm not sure," said Verity. "Maybe. The doctors aren't particularly coherent, chronologically speaking, but I don't know how else the mountain could have been destroyed. None of the other places I've been able to get into have the capacity to do so much damage." She looked dubiously at the door, buckled and warped, unopenable, and the rocks piled high in front of the entrance. "Wish I could get in," she said. "There must be some amazing stuff in there."

"Is this still going?" Arcade picked his way carefully over the rubble to a computer terminal. "I knew these things had a hell of a battery life, but this is a little ridiculous."

"A lot of this place is a little ridiculous," agreed Verity. Her smile felt alien on her face.

He crouched on the ground and began to flick through the files on the computer.

"There's a lot of the Sierra Madre stuff on that, I think," said Verity quietly. "Sinclair almost bankrupted himself building the place, so he sold it to this place as a test city to keep it alive."

"So… the cloud?" asked Veronica, hesitantly.

"Yeah," replied Verity. "Hazardous toxins plant or something. I don't even know what it was meant to _do_. So many of the things here are like that, it seems like one of the scientists has an idea and they just run with it full-fucking-tilt without considering what might happen because of it."

"Now why does that sound so familiar?" asked Raul.

Verity's eyes widened, thrown off-balance. "I… what?"

He shrugged.

"It's not the same," said Boone, his eyes cold.

"Didn't say it was," Raul said lightly.

"Well why don't you keep your mouth shut next time?" Boone asked through clenched teeth.

"Hey." Raul held up his hands. "If you read anything into that, it says more about-"

"Okay!" said Veronica. "I don't think this is constructive!"

"What?" Arcade looked up, seemingly without having heard the conversation. "Oh, hey, what are the vending machines?" he asked. "This file has a list of things you can get from them, but there's absolutely no cohesiveness about any of the items. Food, chems, and weapons?"

"They can make items from metal chips," said Christine coolly. "As far as I know, it's an internal synthesis and doesn't require any components of its own."

Arcade took his glasses off. "Are – are you serious?"

Christine shrugged. "They're quite small, there doesn't seem to be much room inside them to store the items it can produce. There may be some compartments for protein or synthetic material reserves. I don't know for sure, but it's my best guess based on the times I've used them."

"And you say the ones at the Sierra Madre still worked?" he asked.

"What you have to remember," said Christine, putting a hand on her hip, "is that they were never used. Well, not much. Contractors at first, scavengers afterwards. Bombs fell before the place opened for business."

"But still," said Arcade. "To keep functioning after two hundred years in what seem to have been toxic conditions… these could be invaluable in mitigating food security issues in the wasteland. Verity-" he turned. "Could you copy this data onto your pip-boy for me? It's… important."

Verity was still staring, stricken, wordless. She blinked and cleared her dry throat. "Uh. Yeah. Okay." She offered her arm and let Arcade set up the file transfer.

She rubbed her forehead. The mentats were starting to wear off, leaving a thick dullness behind.

"Where to now?" asked Veronica, once they were done.

"Um. Maybe the – the plant place. Research centre. Vault 22."

"_That_ started here as well?" she asked.

"Everything did," said Verity bitterly. "Follow me."

The X-22 was just a short walk through the carved-out walkway. The plants whispered in the still air, thick branches of foliage swaying gently.

"Careful." Verity said, drawing a laser pistol she'd found in one of the drawers in Klein's house. "More of those plant people."

No sooner had she spoken than something hit her, hard, knocking her from the ledge of the ruined building to the floor below. Her fingers had tightened reflexively on her pistol instead of dropping it, but her arm was pinned underneath her. She pulled her head back as much as she could and headbutted the creeper. It barely seemed to notice, rearing back and clawing her across the face. Her head hit against the ground so hard she saw stars.

She could hear shouting above, blurred and distant. Gunshots rang out, and suddenly the entire weight of the creeper dropped down on her. She pushed it off herself muzzily and struggled to her feet.

There was a thud next to her as something landed, and then Veronica was holding her elbow. "You okay?" she asked. "Your face is bleeding."

Verity raised her hand to her cheek. There were three scores along it, but they were fairly shallow. "Good," she said, her voice sounding strange in her ears.

Arcade had somehow managed to find the only terminal in the complex that was still working

"With the data that we had from Vault 22, and the experiment notes, I think we can ameliorate some of the more negative effects while still encouraging growth."

"I've got a thing up in my room that can clone plants," she offered. "And very suggestively, I should add."

Arcade tilted his head a fraction. "Well," he said slowly. "That could be useful, but – probably only for small, controlled plots. The thing with cloning plants is that it removes genetic diversity from the equation." He folded his arms. "With an entirely homogeneous population, it's very easy for one virus to come in and wipe out – well, everything."

"What's homog-"

"It means they're all the same as each other," sighed Arcade. "See, say plant A is resistant to an infection, and plant B isn't. If we clone a whole lot of plant Bs, one infection could destroy the whole lot."

"Why don't we just clone the plant As then?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. "Because, plant A might be susceptible to a different infection. The only way to avoid this is have a mix of both plants so at least some survive. The remaining plants have some resistance to the infection so they can't get infected by the same thing again, which should carry on to future generations. There's quite a low level of diversity among plants out in the wasteland in any case, restricting it further could end badly."

"Could you like – use the information we have from here to like, swap their things and stuff? Share their resistances or introduce new characteristics or something?"

Arcade stared at her. Just when she was about to withdraw her suggestion in embarrassment, he spoke again. "Well – yes. Potentially. That could, actually, work really well." He pushed his glasses further up his nose, growing more enthusiastic. "With this _and_ the vending machines, I just – the scope of what we could accomplish is – is-"

"Okay," said Verity, waving a hand. "I get it. More downloading. I really should back this damn thing up one of these days." She crouched by the computer to copy the information. "One system crash and it's all over."

"What else?" she said, half to herself. "There's a bunch of information on cazadores and nightstalkers in the animal labs, I guess. I don't know if it'll be useful. And there might still be some of them still in there. I cleared most of them out, but – I don't know. There are a lot of them."

"They're not as much of a problem, these days. Didn't you have something you wanted Veronica to do with something?"

"Oh, yeah. I remember." She turned to Veronica. "I need your help with getting some more bomb collars off some people I met."

Veronica's smile was sad. "Of course."

* * *

The thing which Verity remembered most was the way the ghouls in the camp hadn't even tried to step outside it. The gates were wide open, but not one of them would take a step out. She'd given them what she could, but she didn't know if it would be sufficient. Or if they'd be able to function on the outside, if she managed to get them out of the Big Empty.

She was sitting on the edge of the fountain in Higgs Village, the spray from the water misting over her in a cold haze.

Her mind was racing. She couldn't concentrate enough on any one thought enough to track it down and develop it into anything else. She just needed – needed to-

She looked up at the houses, then narrowed her eyes. There was something on the roof. She made her way up to the second level of the balcony to try to get a better view.

She balanced carefully on the balcony railing, then leaped onto the roof of the house, arms outstretched for balance as she landed on the tiles. Next was the leap from this roof to the next one, which she managed barely, knocking a couple of tiles to the ground.

As she She could see that a skeleton was sitting on the lawn chair, finger bones loosely clasping a half-full liquor bottle in one hand, and a pistol lying just under the other.

She lifted the skeleton off the chair and sat down in its place. Reaching for the liquor bottle seemed to be the obvious next move.

"Sorry, buddy," she said. "Don't think you'll be needing this any more."

The village was golden in the afternoon light. She could almost imagine she was sitting in the sun, in a small village, far away, surrounded by friends and not the horror of-

"What are you doing up there?" Boone distracted her from her reverie, standing by the central fountain, looking up at her.

"Drinking," she called back down.

"How'd you get up there?"

"Jumped." She pointed.

He looked over at the balcony, shrugged, and began to re-trace her path.

She took another gulp from the bottle while he was making his way carefully across the rooftops.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing!" She grinned. "Nothing at all."

She reached idly for the pistol and aimed it at the fountain. Boone plucked it from her hands.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked quietly.

"Doing what?"

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed, and took another drink. "I just – I don't know," she began. "It's too much."

"Okay."

She studied his face carefully. It was blank, impassive. Not critical, not judging.

"I want to stop thinking," she confessed, quietly. "I can't deal with it and I'm scared I'll fuck things up. Is that enough of a good reason for you?" She regretted the snide edge to her voice almost as soon as she'd said it.

He didn't seem to notice it. "Is it about what Raul said?"

She looked away. "No. I don't know."

"You're not like that. You don't set out to hurt people."

She sighed. "To be honest, I don't – I don't know if they did either." She ran a finger over the scar that ran across her forehead. "Just – one day you make a compromise so you can get something important done. Then a little while later you make a slightly bigger one, but it doesn't seem much bigger because of the last one. And then one day you're having someone assassinated because they're opposing a plan you have to put a road through their house or something."

Boone's eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. "Has that-"

"No," she said miserably. "That hasn't happened. Ha. Yet. God knows I've… It'd make my life a lot easier."

He took his sunglasses off and sat down on the roof next to her. "That's not you," he said. "You're not hurting anyone. You know where the line that you shouldn't cross is."

She risked a glance down at him, but couldn't hold his gaze. "I'm hurting you," she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. "That should be enough."

He didn't answer, so she continued. "And who knows what I'm doing by leaving Benny in charge of the whole fucking city all the time. I know you're just trying to make me feel better about it, but – don't. You were right. You've been right the whole time. You shouldn't have to-"

She felt him wrap his hand around her ankle gently, warm against her skin. When she looked down at him he was gazing out over the fountain.

"Drinking doesn't help," he said. "Though it seems like it at first. Takes the thoughts away. Drink enough and you won't dream, either." He sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Didn't go to sleep sober for almost two years. Carla knew something – something was-"

Verity reached down and put her hand on his shoulder, sliding her fingers just under the thin material of his t-shirt at the base of his neck.

"It doesn't make it go away," he continued after a moment. "Just pushes it down. It'll still be there. Looking for a way to get out."

"What do I do?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he said. "But talking to people about it helped more than I thought it would."

She didn't reply.

Boone got to his feet. "Anyway. I came up here to give you this." Boone handed her a holotape.

She turned it over in her hands. Printed in small lettering along one side were the words "AUTO-DOC: COSMETIC SURGERY UPGRADE FILES".

Her eyes widened. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Found it in the medical lab earlier," he said, a little awkwardly. "It's not- I didn't give it to you because I think you need to – to change, just – you said wanted it."

She jumped to her feet, Boone grabbing her arm to steady her as she swayed a little. "No, it's fantastic!" she said. "This is so great. Thank you so much."

He smiled. "Ready to come down?"

She followed him.

* * *

Thank you for reading! And to everyone who's reviewed. I kind of worry sometimes (frequently) that my stories aren't interesting to anyone other than myself, so it's nice to hear otherwise D: and a lot of the time reviewers end up having a lot more input into the story than they possibly realise (Vect, Krow Blood, Thrillsnfrills, Short Ninja, Scarletstar, WHATSHISFACE goddammit.) And also thank you to Aniphine for like a zillion awesome chapter reviews. Anyway, ilu all~


	41. I'm Gonna Keep

Thank you to those that reviewed the last chapter :3 crisis of faith appears to be over.

I'm also kind of running out of lyrics again :( I have a few more ideas for next song, but I'm willing to look at suggestions? D:

* * *

The door to Dala's house in Higgs Village was old, the paint faded and peeling a little, but the temperature and moisture controls in the hangar had preserved the wood enough so that it wasn't rotting or decaying with age.

Verity lifted her hand to knock, then lowered it again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, or how to say it, or if it'd even be taken the right way.

_Okay_, she thought. _Do it_. She clenched both her hands into fists, then raised one to knock on the door.

"Hi." The voice came from behind her, and she lowered her hand, still un-knocked.

She turned. "Hey," she said. "I – uh, I came to see you."

Christine blinked slowly. "I've just been playing with the dogs," she said. "Do you want to come in?"

Verity shook her head. "No, I think I should – probably talk to you about it on your own."

A line of tension appeared between Christine's eyebrows. "Alright."

"Let's go back to the dogs," Verity said.

She could hear the dogs barking and growling before she got there, but wasn't prepared for the sight of Roxie chasing Gabe around the doghouse. It brought an unexpected smile to her face. Gabe came over to give her a lick from his huge wet tongue, then went back to his game.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" asked Christine, folding her arms.

Verity let out a long breath. "You've never been to the Dome, have you?"

Christine raised a confused eyebrow. "No."

"Well," continued Verity. "There's an auto-doc up in the room they gave me."

Christine looked at her blankly.

"Okay, so, it's quite advanced. It could get rid of your scars." Christine looked like she was going to object, so Verity continued quickly. "I _think_ it might be able to put your voice back to the way it used to be. Because we have that recording of your voice, now. I'm pretty sure the only way that asshole Domino could have given you Vera's voice was by giving it a template of Vera's voice to copy, I'm hoping we can reverse it by doing the same."

Christine's eyes had widened. "That's – that's a big-" she broke off, pressing her lips together. "You really think it could do that?"

Verity nodded. "And – and I don't want to get your hopes up about this, but – I think it might be able to repair some of the damage to your brain. I don't know if it _will_, I'm just saying – saying it might be worth looking into."

Christine became very still, motionless except for her eyes, fever-bright and urgent. "I could be – normal again?"

"I don't know." Verity shook her head. "I'm not sure what it can do. But – I think there's a good chance that it would help. Even if it can't fix all the damage."

Christine took a step back. "I – Jesus. Okay. Okay. Alright. I'll come with you. To try it."

"Just remember, I can't promise anything," said Verity. "But we'll give it a try. We'll head out in the morning. Come knock on my door again, I'm not awesome at waking up on time."

"I will," she replied. "Look – thank you," she said, awkwardly. "For thinking of me. It's – thank you."

Verity shrugged. "It's okay. See you in the morning."

* * *

It was the second night in a row that Verity had been woken up before dawn, and it was no less disorienting. She stumbled down the stairs to let Christine in, threw on her armour quickly, woke Boone, let out Gabe, and was ready to leave within ten minutes.

The crater was peaceful in the early morning light, the sky in the east slowly starting to glow with heat and light. Verity felt almost hopeful that things would work out after all – and if she could make things work in this nightmare of a place, she maybe stood a chance of making them work back home too.

She let the others into the Sink, and was greeted with a chorus of voices. She winced. "Hey, everyone," she said. "Just stopping briefly. These are my friends, and to not freak them out, I'm going to get the central command unit to shut off the personalities. Just for a bit. I'll come hang out later."

She set up the autodoc, copying over the voice pattern and identifying the procedures which needed to be done.

Christine hung back, eyeing the chamber unhappily.

"You don't have to," said Verity.

Christine sighed. "Yeah, I do," she said. She reached out and gave Verity's hand a squeeze. "Thank you."

"It'll open when you wake back up," she said. "You won't get – stuck."

Christine smiled humourlessly. "Good to know. See you on the other side."

She stepped inside and the door closed behind her."

Verity grinned. "Okay, I've got to go talk to the doctors," she said. "Keep them occupied so they don't know I'm letting my friends use the Sink stuff. I won't be long, I-"

"You said they know about us being here," said Boone. "It's not safe."

"No, honestly, I'll be fine," said Verity. "They might be a bit irritable about you guys showing up in the Big Empty, but I think I can probably talk them out of doing anything about it."

"'Probably' isn't good enough," said Boone.

Verity took a step back, but had to stop when she felt the wall behind her nudging against her heels. "If you come in with me, they're going to see that as a threat. They have this – this _field_ thing, where people without brains physically can't attack them. You'll still be able to, and I think that might force their hand a little more than I really think is safe, right now."

Boone watched her warily, silent.

"I don't know what kind of weaponry they have equipped," she continued. "If any, I guess. Though they do, uh, produce microfusion cells as some kind of… _byproduct_." She grimaced and shook her head, trying to clear it. "But I'm not prepared to risk you right now. Maybe we'll come back with everyone later, after I get my brain back. But, until then – please, just stay up here."

His gaze was fierce and intense. She wasn't sure that she could pick out all the emotions in it – anger, fear, hurt – and suddenly she couldn't hold it anymore, ashamed and almost sick at the way she was treating him, when all he wanted was to make sure she was safe. She looked away.

"I'll wait outside," he said. "If I hear anything, I'm coming in."

She forced a smile. "Thank you. I won't be long. I'll be done before Christine's finished."

Klein was waiting for her just inside the dome. "So. You've returned, have you?"

"Yeah," she said, trying to stay calm despite her pounding heart. "Look, sorry about the others showing up, they-"

"They represent a huge security risk. We should have them terminated immediately! And you. For your insubordination."

"Hey, come on," she said. "I haven't been insubordinatory. You didn't say that I _couldn't_ bring anyone else. Plus, I didn't know they were coming!"

"That is immaterial," he said firmly. His eye monitors seemed to be glaring disapprovingly. "They are here now. Any they should not be. This is _meant_ to be a secure facility, and you have compromised this."

"You can't really say it's _that_ secure, though," she said, growing more confident. The longer she could keep him talking, the more it seemed like she could convince him that everything was fine. "I mean the cazadores and nightstalkers got out. And you've had people come through here before, my friends are hardly as destructive as your last visitors."

"No," said Klein, slowly. "That's true."

"_And_," she continued. "One of the people I'm here with killed the guy who blew up your trains. So, you know, we're all on the same side."

He didn't seem to notice the shakiness of her logic. "Very well," he said grudgingly. "You may keep these minions of yours. But under _no circumstances_ will you take them into any more research facilities. Our top secret projects are _top secret_. Do you understand me?"

"Got it!" she agreed cheerfully.

"And stop delaying. We need the antenna _now_, not whenever is convenient for you."

"Fair enough!" she said. "Look, I just gotta talk to a couple of the doctors here and then I'll go get it. Okay?"

"Okay," said Klein, menacingly. "_For now._"

She trotted down the stairs and over to the only doctor that she hadn't been able to talk to already.

"Hey," she said, cautiously.

8 made a noise that made her teeth hurt.

"So, you do like soundwave stuff, right?"

He hissed another line of code at her.

She blinked. "I went to your house," she said. "It's really, uh, well-organised And normal. Almost. Well, compared to some of the other ones, anyway. Dala's is weird. And Dr O's obsession with House is creepy. He has a huge photo on the wall with knives stuck into it."

Dr 8 looked at her quizzically.

"I still feel bad about killing him," she admitted. "I wish – I don' t know. That maybe there was another way. Or even, I guess, if I hadn't killed him at all. Things might have been – better."

The noise he made sounded a little sympathetic.

"It seemed like the right decision at the time. You know?" She looked up at him warily. "You're very easy to talk to. I guess that's because I have no idea what you're saying, though. I mean hell, you could be like, insulting me with every sentence and I wouldn't know."

He chirped something.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I'm just kind of… talking. Thanks for listening, I guess."

Another line of code.

"I'm going to go talk to Dala," she said. "See if she can help me figure out some way to talk to you."

She didn't understand what he said to her as she walked away, crossing the floor to Dala.

"So I have no idea what 8 is saying, ever," she said.

"Mmm," Dala agreed. "It's nice, isn't it? Not able to challenge the very foundations of your theories. He is a much more pleasant sounding board than he once was."

Verity frowned. "Wouldn't challenging theories make them better? Because you have to justify it and shit?"

"Oh, it _seems_ that way. But after you've been around as long as I have, you start to realise that the process of gaining scientific consensus is merely… time consuming. Time that could have been better spent elsewhere. On future experiments, for example!"

Verity sighed. "Okay. Sure. Whatever," she said. "Hey, actually, what happens if you snort mentats?" I wouldn't normally bother, but I can't figure 8 out and I'm getting a little desperate."

"Snort?"

"You know, crush them up and like, breathe them in."

"Ahh, of course. Diffusion through mucous membranes. I imagine the heightened absorption rate would result in increased effects. Possibly for a shorter time, but – I would imagine more intense."

"Sold!" said Verity, reaching for her pockets.

"Would you – let me monitor you for… physiological changes? Strictly for scientific and safety reasons, naturally." Dala's voice was almost a purr.

"Yeah, why not."

Dala followed close behind as she sat down cross-legged at the low table and began crushing the pills into a fine dust with the butt of her pistol. She gave a one-shouldered shrug, rolled up and old world twenty into a tightly-coiled tube, leaned down, and breathed in.

It hit her like a kick in the face. She recoiled, sinuses burning. It felt like she was awake for the first time in years. Her blood was fizzing, thoughts bursting through to the forefront of her mind, almost crowding each other out.

"The _code_!" she exclaimed to Dala. "He has to broadcast in RobCo. Of course. It's still the same language, no matter what the output. And – no, not copper, maybe – glass. Crystal?" She leapt to her feet and swayed, lightheaded. "If the attenuation was low enough – because you must be running some fairly complex programs – do you mind if I just borrow some-"

She didn't wait for a response before running up the stairs to the upper level. She knew she didn't have much time, as she thumbed through the cables in the Doctors' rooms, feeling for weight, shape, flexibility. When she found one that felt _right_, she nicked the thin plastic with a knife, and grinned at the translucence within.

"What kind of ports do you guys have?" she called out. "I'm on a standard 1394 but I think I'll need a converter."

"I've never been that good at this sort of technological details," admitted Dala, now in the doorway. "Why don't you take a look?" She turned her chassis around.

Verity crouched to examine the ports. There was a huge array of ports, pins protruding like a tiny forest. She ran her fingers over them until she found something she could work with. "Oh, you can take these too? That's good, that way I don't have to install anything. How's your security, think I'll need to hand-shake it?"

"It's always polite to ask before invading someone's network," murmured Dala.

"Fair enough. Good practice, anyway. I mean, they say RobCo is pretty much virus-proof, but it only takes a minor corruption to brick this shit." She gestured at her pip-boy.

She reached over to the pile of cables she'd collected, grabbed one and pulled off the plastic jack plug with her teeth. She stripped back the plastic from the cable she was holding and slid the jack on, then reached for a crimper to finish it. She stood. "Sorry to rush off," she said to Dala, "but I don't think this is going to last much longer."

Her running footsteps echoed as she crossed the floor. "Hey!" she said, words coming out in a rush. "Mind if I plug this in? I won't leave any malware or whatever."

His eye monitors moved uneasily, but he let her connect the two devices. After a moment, the words '_connection accepted [limited access]_' came up on her pip-boy screen.

She relaxed a little. "Thanks," she said. "I just had like, this one idea. But it's… it's going away now. Sort of." The colour seemed to drain out of the world, and she sat down wearily.

_Are you all right?_

The words came up on her pip-boy screen.

"Probably – probably should have known that was a bad idea," she said. She was almost ready to fall asleep. "Oh well. Worked, didn't it?" She grinned.

_So it would seem._

"I wanted to ask you about the gun. Is – is it a harmonic res- reson… thing?"

8 bobbed up and down excitedly. It almost made Verity tired just looking at him.

_Each frequency has different effects on the world around them! People, animals, plants, rocks. The gun is based on the premise that certain frequencies agitate atoms in slightly different ways. How has the field-testing gone?_

"Uh, yeah, pretty good. It's good at killing forcefields. I could do with a little more damage output though."

8 seemed offended, and took a moment to reply. _How hard it hits isn't the only thing that matters, you know._

Verity shrugged. "Sorry. Look, uh – hey. What did you do to it to fill it up? I don't think I quite understood what happened at that point. You know, recently brainless and all."

_Sonjaculated! _

"Okay, there is no way that word doesn't mean what I think it means," Verity looked down at the emitter by her side uncomfortably.

_There's no need to be prudish about it. It's merely the most practical way of filling it. It just so happens that it has follow-on benefits that are unrelated to the weapon's performance._

"I guess that's, uh, fair enough-" Verity began, but words were already filling up her screen again.

_And everyone has needs they need to take care of, don't they? And they fulfil them in a variety of ways. What about you?_

Verity's eyes flew open. "Um," she said. "That's very – uh, personal." 8 was looking at her expectantly. "Well. I – uh, there's, um. I have – I have a… a friend? Who, um, sort of takes care of most of that."

_Convenient for some._

"Well-" she began reluctantly. "He's not around all the time." She looked down. "Job out of town, you see."

_So…?_

She frowned. "Okay, fine. So, one of my friends told me about this trick-" she could feel her cheeks going red. "With a microfusion cell. You kind of mess around with the charges a bit, and – well, you know."

He bobbed up and down in delight.

"I can't believe I just had this conversation," she said. "Okay, I've gotta talk to Borous and then I'll be heading out again. It was, um, nice to talk to you." She disconnected the cable hurriedly and laid it on the low table.

* * *

Everyone does it, right?


	42. On the Run

Sorry this is late :( my boyfriend is quite sick at the moment and I apparently can't write when I'm super-stressed?

In this chapter I actually try taking someone's advice and describe some things for once.

..I was actually really amazed with how much longer it makes the scenes go on for *weep*

OH ALSO. Over 100 000 words WTF GUYS?

* * *

"Well, well, well," said Borous, as she walked over to him. "The scientist and the _dog-napper_ meet again."

"I did not even kidnap your dog," said Verity. "Stop being so dramatic."

"If not that, then shall we run through your other crimes? Breaking and en-"

"Stop it," she said. "Look, do you want me to bring him in for you? So you can see him?"

Borous seemed to contract, pulling his monitors in closely. "Is he – here?"

"Well, no," admitted Verity. "He's outside. I could call him in-"

"Yes!" he interrupted. "I command you to do that."

Verity's eyes narrowed slightly. "_But_ he hasn't been socialised very well _for some reason_, and I assume the pacification field won't work very well because he still has a brain, and possibly also because he's a dog."

"Oh," said Borous deflatedly. "Of course."

"So I could either bring him in, and you take responsibility for his actions, or you come out and see him."

"Outside?" he quavered. "But outside the robo-scorpions can steal your intelligence! But – I don't want him in here either. Animals can be so… messy."

"They're probably not as messy when you're not doing horrible experiments on them at the time." She rolled her eyes. "But there weren't any robo-scorpions when I was out there last."

Borous' eye monitors shifted uneasily. "I don't know," he said. "Going… _outside_… seems like it could have a number of negative repercussions. What if you're trying to lure me into a _trap_? What if you're collaborating with _Mobius_?"

"I don't know how to get into his stupid hideout," she snapped. "If you don't wanna see your dog again, fine, he probably doesn't remember you anyway." She rolled her eyes and began to walk away.

"Wait!" he called. She didn't stop.

"What are you doing?" She heard Dr Klein intercept Borous behind her. "You can't actually be considering going _outside_? Remember the robo-scorpions, with their intelligence-stealing lasers? Do you _want_ to be reduced to the level of this lobotomite here?"

She knew she should let it pass, but she couldn't. She turned. "Could you just fucking stop that 'this lobotmite is a barely functional animal' bullshit?" She asked, irritated at how calm her own voice sounded. "I'm doing all this shit for you because you're too much of a fucking baby to leave your house, so I think the least you could do is not be a condescending dick to me _to my face_."

Klein stared. At least – she thought he did. Those wide, unmoving eyes, and the curved bow of the lips on the monitors in front of her faced her blankly for almost a minute, flickering eerily. She took a step back.

At last, he answered. "I shall speak to our test subjects in any manner I deem appropriate," he said. "We are _helping you _to regain your pitiful brain. Your squishy human body is too full of hormones to be able to see things objectively."

"It's _my brain_, how am I actually meant to be objective about it?"

"_You_ are not the important one here," boomed Klein. "We are conducting an experiment that is of the utmost significance. You, with your pitiful intellectual capacity and multitude of dangling hand-penises, are of little consequence."

She almost thought she felt a spark of anger. "So I'm just doing your legwork. A messenger."

"Essentially," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "So what's your thing with _penises_?" she asked. "Is that some sort of psychological trauma? Some long-lost repressed memory? Or is there some sort of cortical breakdown going on that you don't know about? Brains do degrade over time, by the way, I had to replace a cyberdog's brain fairly recently."

"The technology we use is far more advanced than a standard cyberdog set-up-" he began.

"So the penis thing is all you, then?" She held up her hands. "I'm just saying, it's a weird thing to fixate on. I mean, I like dicks and all, but you just keep bringing them up at weird times."

"Don't question my choice of fixations. You are a filthy lobotomite and I am not prepared to listen to your fraudulent speculation any further."

She curled her lip. "Well I had sex _on your bed, in your house._ Suck on that." She turned on her heel and started for the door.

He made a wordless sound of revulsion. She grinned as she was walking away.

Borous caught up to her near the door, the jets that supported his hovering movement hissing gently. "Is- is Gabe waiting outside?"

"Well, no," she said. "Not yet. I'll call him and see if he shows up."

Boone was waiting in the small foyer when she opened the door. "Your eyes look different," he said, frowning. "Have you- what the hell is _that_?"

Borous had followed her through the door and was pressing his metal body close against the door behind him. She turned to look at him; saw him through Boone's eyes – a sphere of metal and glass, hovering gently, three monitors representing two eyes and a pair of lips protruding from the body.

"Oh," she said, drawing the word out. "I forgot you were still here. Um. I don't know how to introduce you. This is – uh, this is one of the doctors. Borous." She turned to Borous. "And this – this is Boone. If you hurt him I will kill you."

"Honestly," scoffed Borous. "Do I seem like the type to go for base slaughter?" He and Boone were sizing each other up uncomfortably; Boone with a hand on his sidearm, Borous backing himself against the door back to the dome as much as he could.

"Not of humans, I guess," she admitted, walking over to the outside door, and hit the button. The metal panel slid up, revealing the brown of the sun-baked crater outside and the thick blue of the sky. She took a step outside, but left her foot in the door, forcing the sensor to keep the door open.

"Gabe?" she bellowed. She heard the sound echo around the small room tinnily. "Gabe?" she called again. She pursed her lips and whistled. "Come here, boy!"

She took a step outside, footsteps loud in the silence. All she could see were the wide pathways and pipes and the blue grass that made everything look alien. There wasn't a single sign of movement. It almost looked like a photograph under the harsh sun, bleached and unreal.

"Gabe!" she called again. She felt a warm breeze whisper past, barely stirring the air, doing nothing to cool the beads of sweat on the back of her neck. She raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun.

_There._ She thought she could hear something. She strained to try to hold onto the sound, scanning the broken horizon.

"Gabe?" This time she was _sure_ she heard a response. It was quiet, but there, a bark echoing off the crater walls. A bright flash of reflected sunlight dazzled her as it bounced off a metal surface, and then she finally spotted the huge dog, loping easily over the pathway to the dome. She heard Borous hovering in the doorway behind her. "It's so – so bright out here," he said indistinctly. "And… big."

Gabe bounded towards her, and skidded to a halt in front of her. She smiled and reached up to rub his nose. She was engulfed in a cloud of his hot, foul-smelling breath, and – something else. She stepped back.

"Ugh." She wrinkled her nose. "What have you been rolling in? I'll have to take you down to the magnet- magnetohydraulics thing later. Still-" she glanced behind her, "at least the tanks don't have noses, I guess. Anyway, I have someone I want you to meet," she said.

Gabe began to snarl, the noise deep in his throat.

"No, not like that," she said. "You know him already. Don't be grumpy."

She stood back to let Gabe see the doctor. He growled uncertainly.

"None of that," she admonished. "You remember – uh." She turned back. "Borous probably isn't your real name, is it? It's not like the others have real names. Except for Klein, maybe? I don't know how this place works, it's weird."

Borous was quivering, monitors pulled in tight. "This was a mistake," he said.

"Well, sure, if you're going to run away from everything you find scary for the rest of your life." She rolled her eyes. "Like that whole Richie Marcus thing. It's a little sad."

"I ordered you to stop with your amateur attempts at-" He stopped speaking abruptly as Gabe began barking, so loudly that Verity had to cover her ears. Gabe leaped towards Borous, standing up on his hind legs and pawing at the tank, running in circles around him.

"What is he doing?" Borous called out, alarmed, as his tank rocked unsteadily. "Make him stop it!"

"I think- I think that's him being happy," yelled Verity, struggling to make herself heard. "If he didn't like you, he'd probably try to chew the screens off!"

Gabe made a circle around the tank, sniffing the machinery, the plastic, and snapping experimentally at the jets of hot air that held Borous up.

"Good boy?" Borous said, uncertainly.

Gabe sat down next to him and whined. Verity realised she had been holding her breath and let it out.

"Gabe," began Borous. "I – I don't remember you being this – this big. So... How – how have you been?"

Gabe's tail began to wag.

"I want to – to do something in response to this," he said to Verity, his voice slightly panicked. "But I don't know what. I have a strange… a strange feeling."

"I think you're wanting to pat him," said Verity.

"I don't appear to have any arms," he said. He reached out a monitor tentatively, but changed his mind halfway through and pulled it back. "Oh, Gabe," he said. "It's been… so long. And you're still just as excited to see me as the day you were first brought home." He sniffed." Even after – everything I've done."

Gabe butted his head against the tank; plastic braincase against plastic braincase, and tried to rest his head on Borous' mouth screen.

"And your armour fits you so well," he continued, his voice rising in pitch. "The lobotomite tells me that your parameters seem to be set to 'very hostile'. Maybe I could – could readjust your programming. I always _meant _to, I just – I just never made the time for it." His monitors slumped, and he seemed to sag slightly in the air. "I'm – sorry."

Gabe's tail thumped furiously against the ground.

"And you've forgiven me already," Borous said unhappily. "That's – that's good. Good boy. I think I want to go inside again, now." Gabe whined as he began to move away.

Verity followed him. "Do you-"

"Do not speak to me now, lobotomite," he said, regaining a little of his old composure, once inside the lobby. "I have things to think about. _Very important things_."

She watched as he retreated back into the darkness of the dome.

"Well," she said, turning back to Boone. "That went well. I think."

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

She stepped into the elevator back up to the Sink and motioned for him to follow. "Okay. So they used to be people, right, and then – I'm actually not sure on the details, at some point in time they decided to dump their brains in a gel vat and live forever. Long story short."

She couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses in the neon elevator glow.

"Okay," he said, finally.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Pretty much. This whole place is like that. Maybe I'll turn on the personalities up here and introduce you."

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out.

"Okay," she announced to the central control unit. "Everyone back on, thanks."

"If you insist, sir."

The noise started at one wall and moved like a wave across to the wall opposite as the machines woke back up, chattering and calling out.

"Quiet, please," said Verity. No one listened.

Muggy rolled up to her and bumped his wheel against her foot to get her attention. "You bring me any mugs?" he asked, eagerly.

"Uh..." Verity glanced sidelong at Boone, guiltily. "Have any mugs?" she whispered.

"Why would I have any mugs?"

_"Mugs?" _Muggy's eager teacup-face was staring up at them.

She sighed. "No, Muggy, I didn't. Sorry."

"You sound mad," he said. "Are you mad that I ask you for mugs all the time? I'd be mad if someone kept asking me for useless items as well." His tiny securitron shoulders slumped.

She winced. "No, I'm not mad."

"But you'd rather I didn't keep bothering you."

He sounded so depressed that Verity felt desperate to do something to alleviate it. "What if I went to Dr O, right, and I like - asked him to get back into your programming and tone down the mug thing? I guess it's kind of his idea of a joke but he's not-"

Muggy was staring, as much as a miniature securitron could. "Yes!," he said. "_Yes! _To be free from this _stupid obsession _would be incredible! I just - I just..." he trailed off. "What would I do instead?" he asked, quieter. "As long as I can remember, my one goal in my existence was to collect mugs, I don't - I don't know what - what I'd do... all on my own."

"You can pick that one yourself," she said.

"That's easy for a being with self-determination to say," Muggy said unhappily. "I have to think about this." He trundled away.

Boone watched him leave uneasily. "Everything - everything in here has a personality?" he asked, backing into one of the small room off the main living area.

"Um," said Verity. "Yeah, pretty much. Wait, don't go in there-"

It was too late. He was already in the small room, staring, wide-eyed. He took his sunglasses off. Her heart and spine were floating gently in two tanks in front of him. The third tank stood empty.

He looked at her motionless heart, drifting gently in the glass tank in front of them, then at her, and then back. He lifted a hand and touched a finger to the top of her scar, just below the dip between her collarbones. He didn't say a word.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I can fix everything, it'll be fine."

Without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace. She could feel his heart thumping wildly. "I should have- should have-"

She pulled back just a little, enough to look into his eyes. "You can't blame yourself for _everything_," she said.

"I want to keep you safe," his words were barely audible.

The stab of guilt she felt was almost painful. "You could probably do with some cooperation on that, right?"

He didn't reply, just looked at her.

"Christ," she said, shoulders sagging. "I know we - _I_ - can't go on like this. Things will be different. When we get back." She looked up into his eyes. "I never meant to make things this hard for you."

The auto-doc timer dinged in the main room, and just like that, Boone seemed to close himself off again. Back to the cold sniper she'd first met in Novac, so long ago. His public face. Verity blinked at the sudden change, then gave his arm a squeeze.

"Okay," she said. "Let's go see what we've got."


	43. I'm Gonna Have Me

In this chapter I cobble stuff together hurriedly because I'm about to go on holiday. Also I have the flu and I kind of want to die D: oh god I wish I could breathe through my nose.

This chapter is a love letter to the Sink. *_* and took FOREVER to write.

* * *

The auto-doc door swung open, and Christine stumbled out, grabbing onto the wall, the book chute, anything she could to help her balance.

"Did-" she began, unsteadily. "Did the auto-doc talk to me?" She looked back at it unsteadily.

"Oh, _shit_." Verity grabbed her elbow. "I turned everyone back on while you were still in surgery. Sorry. I didn't think he'd start up halfway through an operation."

Christine raised her free hand to her head. "It's – okay," she said, sleepily. "It was kind of – reassuring, in a way. Like – like a kindly old doctor, from one of the old holotapes I used to – used to watch."

Verity led her over to the bed and sat her down carefully. "No chairs, sorry," she said. "How are you feeling?"

Boone watched from the doorway as Christine swayed slightly. "Uh," she said. "I don't know. Hey, I – I sound different. Better. Normal."

"You kind of sound like the lightswitches," said Verity, raising an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, could we get some sort of soothing recovery lighting thing going on please?"

The rooms flickered between green and pink. "_Mine's_ better for recovery, it creates a sense of well-being that encourages faster healing."

"Well _mine_ will make her more aware of what's going on, minimising that fuzzy post-surgery feeling."

"Well, _mine-"_

"Shut up," said Verity. "I choose pink."

"But-"

"I _said_ shut up," she repeated. The lightswitches fell silent as the dull pink light flooded the room.

Christine's scars were gone. She was touching her forehead and mouth and throat as if they were someone else's. "Hmm," she said. "Aches. A little. Not – not as bad as it did back at the Sierra Madre. Done properly, this time, I guess. Why do your lightswitches talk?"

Verity rolled her eyes. "_Everything _talks," she said. "I mean, I can turn them off. But – I don't know. When I was first here, it was just so… quiet." She folded her arms. "It was nice to have someone around to talk to, even if they weren't really an actual person. Since I got all their upgrades, though – well. They just never fucking shut up, but if I turn them off I feel bad."

"Oh," Christine said, a little taken-aback. "Of course."

"How's – uh, your brain?" asked Verity.

"Hazy," she replied, leaning forward heavily, elbows on knees. "I don't know if I can think properly. Yet. My head's floaty. Oh, Christ. Should've told Vero-" She stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open.

"What?" Verity asked, after the rest of the sentence didn't seem to be forthcoming.

Christine turned to look at her. "Veronica," she hissed. "I can – I can picture her. Her face in my head! _Her face!_"

"That's different?"

"I haven't had pictures for – so long. _So long._ I'd almost forgotten what it was like," she said softly, smiling. "And – hmm. That feels different too." She touched her cheek. "The scars used to – to tug, a little." She looked up, eyes wide and full of wonder, then just as quickly looked away. "Sorry," she said, embarrassed. "It's just – I'm not used to it."

"Do you want me to go get her?" asked Verity.

Christine closed her mouth, slowly, pressing her lips together. At last, she nodded. "If – you wouldn't mind. That would be… good."

* * *

Veronica wasn't particularly happy to see her, answering the door with flashing eyes and her hair sticking up at all angles as if she'd been tugging on it in frustration.

"Okay," she said, one hand still on the doorknob. "I _get_ that she doesn't belong to me, and I'm not her mom, or something, but I would _really_ appreciate it if you would tell me something, _anything_, about what's going on. It's not fair."

Verity sighed. "I know this isn't easy. This whole thing -" she raised a hand to gesture around herself – "is really messed up. You know she's got some weird shit to deal with. She wanted to see you."

Veronica stared at her searchingly for a moment, then laid her head against the doorway. "Okay," she said unhappily. "It's just – I – ugh. Never mind." She rubbed a hand over her face. "I wish I was better at this."

"I'm sorry," said Verity. "I don't really… _want_ things to be like this."

Veronica gave her a forced smile. "I know," she said. "Sorry."

Raul and Arcade were waiting by the fountain.

"Going somewhere without us, boss?" Raul asked.

"Oh, for fucks sake," she said. "Why not just take the whole gang? Fine. Follow me."

* * *

Veronica was silent the whole way. Verity kept looking back to check that she was, in fact, still there. Veronica barely seemed to notice, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail and watching the tower of the Sink in the distance.

She hung close behind Verity as they took the elevator up, and stepped out into the rooms at the top cautiously.

Christine was waiting for her in the Sink's bedroom, tension in every line of body from her clenched jaw to her hands balled into fists by her sides. "Hey," she said, the word coming out more like a question than a greeting.

"Hey," Veronica said. Her eyes widened. "Oh! _Hey!_ Your voice is different! I mean – she told me that you'd – but I didn't-" She pressed her fingers to her mouth as if she were trying to stop the flow of words. "H-how do you feel?"

"I feel – good? My – my head feels strange, but that's fading, a little, now."

"You look – uh, great. With, um-" Veronica bit her lip, cutting herself off.

A smile tugged at the corner of Christine's lips, and she moved forward to hug Veronica. She squeaked as Veronica hugged her back. "Crushing!"

Veronica pulled back a little. "Sorry," she said. "It's – it's good to have you back.

Christine smiled up at her, then seemed to notice the crowd around them. She touched her throat. "Uh… Do you have – water?" Christine asked.

"We certainly do!" said Verity. She snagged a glass off the shelf in the room that almost approximated a kitchen. Her feet echoed off the linoleum in the small space. She'd never noticed how low the ceiling was before. The cloned plants growing in the boxes of dirt on the table made the room feel even more cramped.

Arcade, bent over the biological research station, looked up briefly as she came in, but seemed to dismiss her and looked away just as fast.

"Chilled, tap, or sparkling?" asked the sink.

Verity stared at it. "What?"

"_Water_," it sniffed. "Obviously."

"What the shit is sparkling water?" asked Verity. "Doesn't all water sparkle? Kind of? Unless it's like… a swamp?"

"It's _carbonated_."

Verity stood, staring at it. She got the sense that the small metal sink was staring back at her.

"Okay," she said, eventually. "Chilled is just cold, right?"

"What else would it be?"

"Yeah, whatever," she snapped. "Give me that one."

She lifted the glass and turned to leave.

"This place is _insane_." muttered Arcade, over in the corner. She turned to look at him.

"I want to feel your seed _all the way_ down inside me," said the biological research station.

Arcade straightened. "Uh…" he began, casting a wary look back at Verity. "I'm feeling a little conflicted about this,"

"I know, right!" exclaimed Verity. "Isn't it weird? I'm not sure what this Mobius guy was into, but what the fuck."

"Oh, baby, don't be like that. There's nothing to be scared of," said the research station.

They both turned to look at it.

"You need to learn how to let go and _relax_."

The only sign that Arcade heard it was a slight creasing between his eyebrows. "I think this – uh – thing's programming will allow for some introduction of variable characteristics in, uh, cloned plants."

Verity blinked at him. "Is that good?"

Arcade looked at her blankly. "Yes," he said, after a moment.

"Well good." She waved at him vaguely. "Feel free to keep doing whatever sort of creepy innuendo shit you were doing before."

"_Hey."_

She could feel Arcade's glare on her back, and grinned as she left the room.

Boone looked up when he saw her step through the doorway. He was crouched in front of the table, examining the toaster closely. "I don't get it," he said.

"Foolish human. You will be among the first to fry under the heat of my death-ray!" it said tinnily.

He ignored it. "It's a toaster who wants to destroy the world. Is that it?"

"Yeah, guy who programmed them seems to have a weird sense of humour," she said. She walked over and laid a finger on on the chrome edging. "I think this one is like a toast pun though. A toaster who wants to toast the world. Get it?"

"Not really," he said.

"I command you to stop speaking about me as if I were not here!"

Verity rolled her eyes. "Sorry, your majesty."

"Your snivelling apology is accepted."

"Does it," Boone began, slowly, "does it toast things?"

"I assume so," Verity replied. "I've never had any actual bread to test it on. He'd probably burn it out of spite, though."

"I could _totally_ go for waffles right now." Veronica poked her head around the doorway. "Can we make waffles?"

Verity's eyebrows drew together. "I don't know how to make waffles."

Veronica grinned. "You need flour-"

"Could possibly find some around here," admitted Verity.

"-sugar-"

"How well does that keep? There's probably some in the X-12 staffroom. Or is it X-13?"

"-milk-"

"Ugh. Uh, no fresh deliveries since 2077, I think."

Veronica's shoulders slumped a little. "Eggs?" she asked, hopefully.

"Um. I think we have cazador eggs and nightstalker eggs."

"Oh." Veronica's lips curved downwards. "I don't think either of those would be that good."

"You can eat deathclaw eggs, though," said Verity. "Someone gave me a recipe, but, you know, I've never made it because that would involve somehow getting a deathclaw egg."

"_As if_," the toaster interjected, "I would condescend to serving breakfast foods to you pathetic peons!"

"I think he just wants attention," said Veronica.

Raul was crouched next to the jukebox, the front panel open and tools on the floor in front of him. "Old Jefferson here says he's got no music functionality," Raul said, as Verity paused next to him. "I'm trying to see what kind of insides he has. There's a jukebox back in that village that I might be able to salvage some parts from."

"I'd appreciate it, daddy-o," said the jukebox. "Gets mighty quiet up here sometimes."

Verity frowned. "You seem quite, um – adjusted. You don't find this place weird at all?"

Raul laughed. "Just a bunch of people who look a little different. Me and this gentleman here are just two old men sharing stories.

Muggy rolled up and made a small circle next to him. "Do you have any mugs?" he asked hopefully.

Raul frowned down at hi. "What sort of person carries mugs with them everywhere they go?" he asked.

"Uh, uh, hotel staff?" Muggy asked. "Or kitchen staff! You wouldn't happen to be-"

"Is this a hotel or a kitchen?"

Muggy's tiny securitron body slumped. "No."

Raul seemed to take pity on him. "You're searching for something, and even if you know what it is, you don't know why. Is that right?"

"I know _why_," said Muggy darkly. "I just can't do anything about it."

Raul laughed. "Same as all the rest of us," he said.

Verity handed the glass of water to Christine, who was sitting against the in the middle of the room so she could see both the first and second lightswitches at the same time.

"I don't see why things have to be so hostile," said Christine. "Why can't you have one room each?"

"_I_ would be perfectly happy with that," said the second lightswitch. But for _some reason_ the other one refuses to compromise."

"Well," said the first lightswitch impatiently. "That's because if we're both on at the same time then unless the resident wants to stay in the bedroom only, she will have to walk through lightswitch #2's light filter on her way out, which would supersede any of the effects from my own filter. It's not fair!"

"_Life_ isn't fair, honey," said lightswitch #2. "That's just the way things are, and there's nothing you can do about that."

"What if you both go on at the same time?" asked Verity.

There was a long silence.

"It just makes kind of a brown," the first lightswitch said, eventually.

"Doesn't make anyone look or feel particularly good," the second lightswitch agreed.

"Early testing indicated it made people feel a little… ill," said lightswitch #1.

"You know," said the second. "Stomach… related issues."

"Okay!" Verity said. "Gross. Obviously a bad idea, fine. I get it."

The number of voices in the room was deafening, her head pounding. She slipped away quietly, and went out onto the balcony. She took a deep breath as she looked out over the crater below, watched the roaming packs of lobotomites and robo-scorpions and nightstalkers, each in their own separate circles, trying to scratch out a living in the only home they had.

The balcony was surrounded by a glowing blue forcefield – presumably to stop anyone tumbling down the rounded surface of the dome, although Verity would have assumed the balcony railing would be enough for that. She took out the sonic emitter, weighed it in her hand speculatively, and finally pointed it at the forcefield and pulled the trigger. The thick blue field faded with a crackling fizz. The breeze was suddenly stronger, the sun hotter. She grinned.

The view was so much clearer. Verity put both hands on the balcony railing and leaned out over the dome, the curved white surface dropping away below her. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to slide down it. She leaned forwards a little more.

"Whoa!"

She heard the voice behind her a split-second before she was grabbed around the waist and hauled back in.

Boone's eyes were wide. "The hell are you doing?"

"I wasn't that far over," she said. "Was I?" She turned around to face him, leaning back against the railing.

He sighed. "I came out to see how you were," he said.

She smiled wryly. "It's been a while since I've been around so many people," she said. "Guess I should start getting used to it again. And being able to shut everyone up if I felt like it - I'll miss that too once we're back at the Strip."

He gave her a strange look, and leaned his elbows on the railing next to her.

"What if you didn't go back?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him. "And do what?" she asked unsteadily.

"And be safe," he said. "With me."

Her throat had gone dry. "And – and we just never go back?" she asked, voice hushed.

"Yeah," he said. "Head west."

For one wild second she considered it, considered dropping everything , leave everything how it was, half-finished and barely started and almost done alike. Freedom. But - to leave everything she'd built...

He seemed to see the answer in her eyes before she could say a single word. He looked away. "Forget I said anything," he said, pushing himself back upright.

She caught his arm. He froze. "Don't," she said. "Please. I – you know why-"

He didn't look at her. "Yeah, I know why."

She let him go, hands falling to her sides. She clenched them into fists to stop herself reaching out for him.

She thought he was going to walk away, but he didn't. "You don't have to be the person that everyone wants you to be," he said. "You're not responsible for everyone."

"Would I even be the type of person you'd want to be with if I could just - just leave everything and not care about what happens afterwards?"

"The city doesn't need you," he continued, voice low and urgent. He took her shoulders in both hands. "It can survive on its own."

"It needs someone," she said. She coils hear the bitterness lacing her tone, and wondered if he could too. "Someone who'll care for it, and help it grow, and guide it into being something great."

"And you're the only one that can do that?" His bitterness seemed to match her own.

She closed her eyes. "I don't know," she said, quietly. "I hope I'm not. But there aren't a whole lot of other people I'd trust to do it."

He let her go and stepped back. "Who made it your responsibility?" he asked.

It was her turn to sigh. "I did."


	44. Some Fun

Holy shit, so last night I actually had a dream that I put this entire story up on facebook to privately share with some people, but instead set the settings to public and all my irl friends read it and I tried to fix it and set it to private but it wouldn't work and people had already commented on it and I wanted to die.

Gosh, sorry about how late this is. Also this is a little shorter than usual, but on the plus side I won't take so long to update next time because I'm back from holiday! Although back to fulltime work again. I'm sure it'll work out.

* * *

The lobotomites knew when she was coming. Verity didn't know how; maybe the seeming randomness of the groups of wandering lobotomites throughout the crater passed information on to each other, maybe those goggles they wore acted as binoculars, but there were always a group of them ready to meet her.

She came alone, as she did always. The lobotomites stuck strictly to routines and seemed to be badly confused when confronted with something new, and the sheer hostility they showed to the vast majority of the other creatures living in the crater meant Verity wasn't comfortable taking anyone along. It wasn't like she needed the protection, after all.

She stood by the blackboard, piece of chalk in hand, barely able to see the pale, huddled shapes of the lobotomites in the darkness of the cave.

"I want to take you to a new place," she said. "It's out in the open. And there's lots of plants."

"Home?" one of them asked.

Verity pressed her lips together. "Like home, yes."

"Your home?"

She looked down at the cave floor. "Not my home. I – I'd like to bring you back with me, but – I don't really know where you could live. There are a lot of people there, and a lot of noise, and – well, I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble with the people who live around there already."

She felt a stab of guilt. They wouldn't like it there, would they? They were so aggressive, so territorial, that any contact with anyone else could surely only end in violence. Maybe a prospector would wander into their territory, maybe someone would come looking for him, and the cycle would continue until someone hired enough firepower to wipe the lot out for good.

They had no place in her Vegas. She sighed. "It's on the other side of the crater. It used to be a research facility. It's out in the open, and there are cooking facilities, or at least a few hot plates, so no more raw meat." She looked hopefully at the blank faces around her. "There's – well. There are some inhabitants over there, so we need to finish burning that out. And I need to check the data we got off the computers to see _just how infectious_ that plant disease thing is. I've been around it a bit, but I think it's a lot more dangerous in confined areas, and this is all open air-" she cut herself off. The lobotomites smiled at her with empty grins. She gave them a weak smile back. "It's a nice place," she said. "You'll like it. I'll take you there later."

One of them pressed something into her hand and closed her fingers gently around it. She stared into the dull surface of his goggles blankly.

"Th-thank you," she said. "I've got to leave, but I'll be back soon. To help you move out."

As she stepped back into the harsh sunlight, she opened her fist, clenched around the small, hard object that she had been given. It was a bird's skull, small and fragile. She frowned down at it. She'd never seen a bird out here, not even flying far overhead. The eye sockets were huge; the beak curved and sharp. She didn't know what it meant, or indeed if it meant anything. A tiny treasure given away as a gift.

She noticed a group of lobotomites were following her as she walked along the path to the X-2 Transmitter Array. She felt a strange sense of security, of safety. She was being watched over. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

She'd been delaying getting the antenna for reasons she couldn't quite understand. Too much to do here, she'd told herself. Worried about what might be hiding behind the Forbidden Zone door? She might admit to that. What she didn't feel so great admitting was that maybe she preferred the set of problems in the Big Empty to her set of problems in the Mojave. That didn't feel great at all. She rubbed at her forehead as if to erase it as she climbed onto the slender metal walkway that led to the tower.

The darkness inside was almost overwhelming after the sunlight, but a short climb up the ladder at the top of the tower put her straight out into the radar dish.

She looked down. The white bowl of the radar dish was blindingly bright, the overhead sunlight bouncing off the curved surface in every direction, blisteringly hot. Above her was only blue. She had to squint behind her sunglasses.

The dish was dotted with gaps and had seemingly been hastily patched with forcefields. She bent to peer through one of them. She could see more lobotomites pacing around the entrance on the ground floor below, barely visible through the blue haze. She pressed her hand to one of the panels, gritting her teeth at the feeling of the static crawling up the back of her neck.

She took out her sonic emitter experimentally and fired it at one of the fields. It faded. She stuck her hand through the gap and smiled. She cleared another one, and was about to try a third when she realised that while carrying the huge antenna she might not be able to see where she was putting her feet so well.

She climbed up to the top where the antenna was secured, and looked out around her. Identical rows of transmitter towers spread out in each direction in a huge ring around the crater, electricity crackling up and down the antennae.

At the rough edge of the cliff next to the tower, the group of lobotomites stood, watching her blankly, axes hanging loosely from their hands at their sides. She held a hand up, tentatively, but none of them raised theirs in return. She frowned at them for a moment – what were they doing? – then wrapped one hand around the antenna, grabbed the top rung of the ladder for support, and pulled.

She could feel her hair rising as she held it. There was a lift, then a turn – and suddenly it was heavy in her hands, the weight pulling her towards the ground, and she almost let go of it, muscles screaming. She gritted her teeth and held on, slowly beginning to climb back down the ladder.

Then the shooting started, so loud and so close that Verity almost lost her grip on the ladder. She dropped the last few feet and crouched low. She cleared the forcefield filling a missing panel in front of her – virtually impossible to hear over the sound of the firing – and peered through.

It was more of the robo-scorpions, ranging from tiny and complex to huge and deadly. They seemed to be crawling out of the walls, more and more materialising in front of her eyes. The lobotomites were shooting, or hacking at the robo-scorpions legs with their glowing axes – Verity wasn't sure which was more effective – and didn't seem to be showing any surprise at all. Like they had been _waiting_ for it.

The lobotomites below were also fighting a swarm of scuttling robots. The angle here was better, though, with less obstructions in the way. She cleared another panel with the sonic emitter and lowered the barrel of the rifle Christine had given her through the gap, one knee flat against the dish for balance, the other leg bent for her to brace herself against. She aimed carefully through her scope. The rifle jerked – just a little – as she fired it, and then again, as her bullets pierced the hard metal shells. She knew they had some kind of atomic core – like Gabe – because the handful of times that she'd been surprised by one close up, they'd detonated after being disabled, which more often than not had left her with an armful of shrapnel if she'd been unlucky, or merely the strange sensation of being engulfed in a ball of electricity that made her teeth somehow ache.

The robo-scorpions crumpled under the assault, steel dented and twisted and strewn around in scraps, legs lying twitching in the dust. As soon as the sparks from the last detonating scorpion died down, they lowered their weapons and began to walk back to their cave.

Verity frowned after them, watching until they had disappeared from view. She ran her tongue over her teeth thoughtfully, then started the long climb down the tower, back to the Dome.

* * *

She dropped the antenna in front of Dr. Klein with a loud _clang_. "There."

"You didn't need to carry it back here," he said, watching her try to shake the feeling back into her arms. "Weren't you listening? I _said_, we can access the blueprints from your pip-boy once you've picked it up."

"Are you fucking shitting me?" she asked. "I carried this piece of shit all the way back here and I didn't even have to?"

"I said _very clearly-"_

"My brain is _fucking missing_, you piece of shit assho-"

"Now, now." Dala glided up the steps. "I believe we are focusing on minutiae instead of the issue at hand here."

The other two turned to look at her. "Well," said Klein. "Yes. Everything is in place for us to return a brain to your body. You may proceed."

"Am I supposed to say 'thank you'?" she snapped.

Dala drifted slightly closer. "My little lobotomite," she purred. "So young. So full of hormonal impulses. All that remains for you to do now is to retrieve your brain from Mobius' lair. A simple task, of course, for one such as yourself."

"Fine." Verity rolled her eyes. "See you later."

She thought she heard Dala call out after her; "be careful!"

The elevator didn't jolt as much lately as it used to. Maybe it was the regular use she made of it. Maybe she was just getting used to its movement.

The Sink was quiet. Well, quieter than it had been the last time she'd been up there. The personalities seemed a little exhausted. Christine and Veronica were sitting in a corner, talking in quiet tones. Arcade was engaged in what looked like an in-depth conversation with the auto-doc; and Boone and Raul were discussing something in what she'd come to think of as her 'spare body parts' room.

She noticed Raul turn to Boone with a raised eyebrow as she walked in. Boone folded his arms and looked away. She frowned, but let it pass without comment.

"Hey," she said. "Who wants to help me go get my brain back?"

She'd barely finished her sentence before Boone was walking towards her. "Let's go," he said.

"I'll come!" volunteered Arcade.

"Really?" Verity asked.

His face took on a pinkish cast. "Well, why not?" he asked. "This place is - well, interesting. I'd like to see more of it."

"It's all yours," said Verity, a slight smile on her face. "Thanks. Okay, let's head out."


	45. If It Costs Me

This is like one huge action sequence, and totally ended up like 3x longer than I expected. This is what happens if you try to describe things more often I guess :[

* * *

The three walked across the pockmarked surface of the crater, brown and barren and broken. Heat shimmered from the ground in waves, so strong it made Verity almost light-headed. She gazed at the few pools of shade they walked past, and where possible, walked in the shadows of the pipes that ran above the crater's surface.

"What's that one?"

Verity followed the direction of Arcade's pointing finger. "Uh," she said, checking her pip-boy map. "I think that'd be the Hazmat Testing Ground. I found a – oh, you weren't there." She turned to Boone. "I found a fucking ghost person outfit just like, standing there. I almost fucking shat myself before I figured out there was nothing in it. _Fucking_ terrifying."

Boone nodded once in acknowledgement.

"Okay, how about that one?" Arcade asked.

"That is… the DNA splicing lab. There's either cazadores or nightstalkers in there, I don't remember which."

"DNA splicing?" Arcades eyes were wide. "I didn't think there was anywhere left that still had the capability."

"I think Borous just cuts things up and sticks them together," grumbled Verity. "There might be something useful in there somewhere, but it's a bit of a shithole at the moment. Everything's made nests, it smells disgusting."

Arcade eyed it longingly as they passed.

"I'll take you there later, if you like," she said.

"Please," he said. "And, uh, what about-"

She checked her map again. "That one is apparently the securitron deconstruction plant. I think they tried – well, I think Dr O tried – to reverse-engineer some securitrons and try to beef up their defences a bit more, because _holy shit _they were hard to kill." She frowned. "Oh _hey_, that reminds me, I should probably ask him about a new holorifle. I mean it might not be possible even, but I'm pretty sure he's the right person to go to. Or Klein, maybe. I kind of don't really know what the others actually do, some of the time."

She felt Boone move up behind her, and touch her lightly on her back. "Okay, don't look now," said Boone, quietly. "We're being followed."

Verity turned around. "Where?" she asked.

Boone closed his eyes for a moment. "Behind us," he said, with an edge to his voice. "I think they're trying to flank us, too."

"Do you know what it is?" Verity couldn't see any movement at all.

"Th- your people. Without brains."

"My people," she repeated, under her breath. She stopped, and raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun. "What would they be doing that for?" she asked, mostly to herself. She looked around. They had left the shade of the pipes, and had been walking in the slatted shade of one of the sets of train tracks that ran throughout the facility.

The research centres were scattered over the crater like dice on a table; careless and random. The holes in the ground where – presumably – something had gone terribly wrong seemed equally nonsensical.

Here and there she thought she could see something among the clutter – someone ducking behind a pipe, or peering out around a crumbling building – but it could easily just have been distortion from the shimmering heat rising from the ground.

"They shouldn't attack if I'm here," she said, but she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice. She thought of the bird skull tucked into her pocket. She didn't really understand who they actually _were,_ did she? Why they did what they did, why they'd adopted her like a stray dog. What they wanted her for; what she was to them.

A flicker to her left caught her eye. It was a group of lobotomites, about a hundred feet away, motionless, watching them. Watching _her_.

"Are they-" began Arcade, but she held up a hand and he fell silent.

She shivered. When they were watching her earlier, like this, they'd been attacked. What were they waiting for this time? Her eyes roamed over them, and then the surrounding buildings. Anywhere they could be ambushed from. She could hear only silence. They didn't move a muscle.

"Okay," she said, cautiously. "I don't think they're here to hurt us. Let's keep going, but – be careful."

The lobotomites walked alongside them as they began to move again. Arcade fell in close beside Verity, Boone dropping back a little – presumably to spread out the targets they presented and to be able to cover the others better. Verity's heart gave a painful twinge.

"What do they want?" hissed Arcade.

"I don't _know_," she said, taking another sidelong look at the lobotomites. Their shaven heads hung low, their arms by their sides, walking dully onward without even seeming to look where they were going. "I don't know if something's wrong, or…" She shrugged a shoulder. "Or if something's going to _go_ wrong."

As they got closer to the entrance to the tunnel that her friends had entered the Big MT through, the lobotomites began to move faster, until they weren't trailing the group, they were leading it. They also let themselves get a lot closer.

"Well, this is creepy," said Arcade. "In fact, I don't know how this could get any creepier. Maybe if they were chanting. I think that would make it creepier, yes."

Verity shushed him anxiously. Would they turn on her? Was she going to have to fight her way through? Was there something she _just wasn't getting_? She slowed down to give her more time to think.

They'd left a gap in their formations – behind them was clear. They could retreat. They were heavily outnumbered, sure, and the lobotomites were well-armed, but – maybe they could escape if they ran. Maybe. She dropped her hand to her pistol, and once again wished she still had her holorifle.

She heard the speakers crackle to life.

"_You dare think to confront me in my own lair? Robo-scorpions, attack!"_

And she could hear that familiar skittering noise again, metal clanking lightly against metal, as the robots began to climb _out of the walls_, twisting metal panels into legs and tails and the plate of their armoured shells.

The lobotomites raised their weapons and began to run, hacking at the scorpions as they went, leaving a trail of scraps of dented metal and machinery in their wake. Sparks spouted up from clumps of parts, arcing one last time before dying completely.

"Jesus Christ," said Arcade. "They're, uh, effective."

Verity nodded, unable to speak as she stared at the robot massacre. By the time the robots' cores had finally overloaded, the lobotomites were well past, moving like a group of locusts descending on a field to feed.

They cleared the way to the entry to the dome, and then stood around the three in a loose semi-circle.

She took a deep breath. "Thanks," she said. "I don't think you should come in here. But I'll – I'll see if there's anything I can do for you." The offer sounded painfully inadequate in her ears, and she looked away before she could see their reaction.

"Come on," she said to the others.

It was pitch-black once the doors had slammed closed behind them, and Verity crouched to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She could hear Arcade's breathing behind her, rapid and shallow. Boone was silent, as always.

The air smelled like – Verity couldn't quite place it. Grease. Machine oil. And something else – a smell she associated with the air after one of the Mojave's rare thunderstorms. She narrowed her eyes.

She could make out something, now. They seemed to be in a huge room, empty except for a metal catwalk running around the walls. The floor was lit with dim orange lights, and as her vision became clearer she could see something _huge_ lying in the middle of the floor.

"Careful," Boone breathed into her ear, sending a tingle down her spine. "This doesn't look good."

"What is it?" she whispered back. "Can you see?"

He'd taken his sunglasses off to see better in the dimness. "It-" he paused for a moment. "It looks like a bigger one of those scorpion things outside."

She closed her eyes, and for a moment let herself lean back against him for a brief moment of comfort. "Shit," she said. "Alright. We can handle this."

She began to move forward, still low to the ground. As if she'd triggered something, the room lit up, orange lights whirling an alert. A huge red ring of light appeared on the floor under the giant robo-scorpion, and above the robot electricity began to crackle and arc as it came to life. It got to its feet, metal groaning under its weight, and settled itself, alert, facing the group. The yellow paint was streaked with thick dust, oil running in rivulets from its joints.

"Mother_fucker_," said Verity. "Maybe I don't really need my brain all that much after all."

Boone's eyes narrowed. "We'll take care of it," he said.

"Fuckin' _how_?"

"Hey," Arcade whispered, leaning towards them. "I think this is an observation room."

She could see the flashing lights reflected in his glasses. "Right," she said. "And?"

"_And_ I think it's been set up to give demonstrations," he said. "So, hopefully, at some stage the demonstration would have ended, ideally without killing everyone in the room. I can see computers up there-" he pointed "- and there. Maybe more. I can head up there and see what I can do."

Verity blinked at him. "Okay," she said. "That – uh, sounds like a good idea. Thank you. Wait-" She held out a hand towards him as he started to move away. "I've got a couple of stealth boys. Want them?"

Arcade held out his hand. "Yeah. They _might _come in useful. Thanks."

He strapped one of the devices on to his wrist and vanished. She watched the light bend eye-wateringly around him as he moved away.

She turned to Boone and jerked her head towards the observation floor. "Wanna see what happens?" she asked.

He paused for a moment. "Carefully," he said.

They crawled, flat against the rough steel floor, up to a protective metal shelter attached to the catwalk, and peered through the window. She couldn't see Arcade moving – the room was still too dim – but the huge robo-scorpion was rotating, moving one huge leg at a time until it was facing the side wall. It raised its tail, agonisingly slowly.

"Shit," she hissed. "It can see him!" She made a move to stand up, but Boone grabbed her by the wrist hard, maybe enough to bruise later, and pulled her back down.

"Do you have any more stealth boys?" he asked.

She shook her head, mutely.

"Then stay here," he commanded. He lifted his rifle and then he was gone, taking the opposite path to the one Arcade had taken.

Just as the tip of the huge robot's tail was beginning to glow, she heard a shot ring out. The robo-scorpion stumbled, thrown off balance. It recovered, slowly, and began making another painfully slow rotation. It lifted its tail again, faster this time, and fired a blast of crackling electricity. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from calling out.

Boone fell to one knee, but recovered quickly and began to move again, keeping its attention. He fired twice, hitting two of the scorpion's legs, sending it crashing to the floor. Just as it got back to its feet, an electrical flash seemed to engulf it. The robot shook it off, with some difficulty, and prepared to fire another blast from its tail at Boone.

Verity's heart was in her throat. She bit her lip, hard, pulled out the sonic emitter, and fired. The blast seemed to set the whole thing on fire, and it turned frantically, trying to escape from the flames.

The robot seemed to have realised where the last shot had come from, though. It managed to right itself, then slowly turned towards her. She dropped to the floor, flattening herself against the textured steel and braced herself.

There was a deafening screech of metal against metal, machinery groaning under pressure, and finally a crashing noise. Verity lifted her head, then pushed herself up to her knees to see out the window. The robo-scorpion was lying on the floor, legs curled under itself. She stood, shakily.

The silence seemed to be putting pressure on her eardrums. "Everyone okay?" she called out.

"Yeah!" She heard Arcade's voice from the other side of the room, high on the catwalk in the dimness. "I think I may have crashed its system."

"Good work," she called back. "Craig?"

She could see a figure raise an arm. "Okay," he said. She could barely hear him.

"Door's ground-level," she yelled. "Meet down here."

Boone arrived first, one arm held tight to his body. A huge swathe of his jacket had been stripped away, his left arm displaying a vicious-looking electrical burn, his skin burnt almost black from just above his elbow to the shoulder. Verity's eyes widened.

"Got any water?" he asked through clenched teeth.

She dropped her pack to the ground and ripped it open, digging through it until her fingers closed around a glass bottle. Her hands were shaking as she tipped it gently against his skin, high enough so she wasn't pouring it on the wound directly but so it would trickle down to cover it. He hissed in pain as the water made contact with the burned area.

She could hardly bear to breathe, the smell of his charred skin and hair almost painful. She could feel her heart racing, and when Arcade touched her on the shoulder she barely registered it.

"I'll take over from here," he said quietly, taking the now-empty bottle from her hands gently and putting it on the ground.

She backed off as he began to unpack his bag; stimpaks, salve, gauze, a syringe of med-x that made Boone sway alarmingly as Arcade depressed the plunger. Arcade caught hold of him with his free hand and helped him carefully to the floor.

Verity pressed one fist to her lips, unable to look away, as Arcade smeared on the salve as gently as he possibly could, and tore away the rest of Boone's sleeve so he could wrap the gauze around his arm.

When Arcade had finished, Boone struggled back to his feet, using his rifle to help balance.

Arcade frowned. "I don't think you should be-"

"Don't care," said Boone, his voice still strained. "We're getting her brain back. Let's go."

* * *

BRAIN TALK: NEXT CHAPTER (sorry, I feel like such a tease)


	46. My Very Last Dime

OH GOD I'VE WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG.

Starring: Mobius as Walter Bishop.

* * *

The door slid open with a shriek of rusted metal, and Verity walked inside.

The Forbidden Zone Dome was almost a carbon copy of the Think Tank's own Dome. It was a large circular floor, dimly lit, with stairs leading up to an upper level, a wide balcony with small rooms set back into the wall. In the Think Tank's dome, these rooms were used as sort of private areas for each doctor, containing a charging base for their machines and a handful of personal items. Mobius' rooms seemed dark and cluttered and disordered.

Scrawled calculations written in chalk climbed across the floor and walls, spidery and fragile.

Arcade crouched on the ground, and touched the markings with a finger gently. "This is phenomenal," he said. "I can barely follow-" he stood up abruptly. "Where does this start?"

The familiar hissing of thruster jets made Verity look up again. Mobius was coming towards them. He didn't seem to be as well-maintained as the others back at the dome – his metal plating was rusting, and one of his eye monitors was cracked and dark.

"Oh, hello," he said, as he floated past them.

The three looked after him as he moved away.

"What," said Arcade flatly.

"You two stay here," she said, mostly to Arcade. "I'll go see if I can – um – talk to him."

She drew her sonic emitter as she approached him.

"Excuse me?"

He didn't seem to take any notice.

She walked after him, feeling a little ridiculous.

"Excuse me," she began, when she'd caught up to him.

"Oh," he said. "It's you again. Is it? Have we met before?"

"Uh. No."

"Oh. You seemed familiar. Please forgive me." He began to float away again.

"Do you have my brain somewhere?" she called out after him, desperation colouring her voice.

He turned in a gentle circle. "Oh, it's you! I thought you looked familiar. I expect you've come for your brain. Could I offer you a mentat, perhaps? I find it so hard to make tea with this blasted lack of fine motor movement. The next model should definitely involve some precision pincers. Maybe some sort of grappling hook, as well, I'm sure that would come in handy. What do you think?"

Verity stared at him blankly. "Um. Yes. Don't mind if I do," she said, re-holstering the sonic emitter. "I think I might need some mentats for this conversation."

A small tray slid out of his side, containing row upon row of mentats. She picked one out carefully.

"I crushed a couple of these up and snorted them, before," she said, staring at the small white pill in the palm of her hand.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "A fellow psychonaut! Delightful. Do tell me about the effects, I no longer have a nose with which to experiment."

"The, uh, the high is _really_ intense, and it feels like you know everything in the world for like – I don't know, five minutes? And the comedown is horrific and you want to sleep for a week."

"I imagine that level of stimulation would fully exhaust the brain's supply of acetylcholine once it has run its course, yes," he said. "Which sounds unpleasant."

"Um. Yeah, kind of," she said. "But – fuck. For those few minutes, I was – I was…" she sighed. "Never mind. Guess I'll stick to party time mentats in future."

"Party… time? I don't believe I'm familiar with that variation. Orange, yes; berry, yes; party time; no."

"Oh, okay," she said. "They're neat. What you do is you crush up some regular mentats, right, then you want to roast some honey mesquite seeds and crush them all together, and then make a paste with some whiskey. I don't have a pill-press with me most of the time, so I just kind of mash them into pill-shape and try to remember which tin I put them in." She paused. "Want one?"

"Of course!" he said. The pill tray in his side shot open once more, and Verity dug one of the party time mentats out of her bag and slotted the pill in at the front of the queue.

"Once more into the breach," he said, as it closed.

Verity swallowed the other pill that was in the case, and then the mentat that Mobius had given her.

"Oh, my dear girl," said Mobius. "That's simply phenomenal. Oh dear me, all those Christmas parties where I'd have to drink half the bar in order to be able to make conversation with one of the admin girls. _This_ is what I was looking for!"

She grinned. "Sorry I didn't come along a couple hundred years earlier, then," she said. "What have you got around here?"

"Well, plenty of mentats," he said. "For one thing. But sometimes that sort of focus isn't what you really want. I have a supply of psycho. I think. I forget where."

"Psycho?" she asked. "That shit's bad news. Christ that stuff makes me angry. And then I get more angry about being angry."

"It's all the norepinephrine." His chassis heaved as he sighed. "It has resulted in some… unfortunate outbursts," he said. "In the past. But – such a feeling of power!"

"Yeah, you need something else to mitigate it," she said. "You know what you'd like? _Slasher_. Oh god, it's amazing. It feels like you're king of everything and dispensing divine justice."

"Another of your recipes? I don't believe I am familiar with this 'slasher'." His monitors leaned towards her, intrigued.

Verity checked her pip-boy list of recipes. "Okay, so you have to take the syringe bit out, it gets a bit complicated. It's psycho, right, and then you have to get the contents of the stimpak into the same vial, and then the binding agent is banana yucca fruit. It takes a little longer to make, but it's so worth it."

"Ah! The norepinephrine combines with the dopamine and phenylethalimine. Genius! A recipe of yours?"

She shook her head. "Not mine. I don't remember where I learned all these, to be honest."

"Oh," he said. "A pity. Never mind. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say, though around these parts I'd say it has largely been part curiosity and part boredom."

Arcade and Boone, seeing that their discussion seemed like it was going to last some time, approached them.

"Oh dear," said Mobius. "That's a bad burn you have there, young man. You should see a doctor."

Arcade raised a hand. "I'm a doctor."

"That's _marvellous_." Said Mobius. "So am I!"

"Uh. That's… good," said Arcade. "Would you mind telling me what your calculations are for?"

"Oh," said Mobius. "Just a theory, just a theory. I've been working on it for years, now."

"What's it a theory of?"

"_Everything_," said Mobius fervently.

Arcade stared, as the silence stretched out. "I… see," he said, finally.

Verity took the opportunity to ask a question. "So what's up with the robo-scorpions?"

"_Nano-particles_!" Exclaimed Mobius. "Isn't that wonderful? They literally create themselves out of whatever materials are around them. I'm very proud."

Verity blinked, the beginnings of a headache building up behind her eyes. "I mean why do they attack everyone?" she asked. "And like they keep broadcasting all these threats from you. And then I get here, and you're totally not some crazy old guy who's trying to kill everyone. You're like a crazy old guy who enjoys taking drugs. Nothing wrong with that, just saying it kind of doesn't all add up."

His monitors seemed to sag. "It's – a rather sad story. One that I'm not particularly proud of." He turned away. "You've met the rest of the Think Tank," he said. "Tell me – what did you think of them?"

"They're-" she paused. "They don't-" She chewed on her lower lip.

"Would you say they had respect for their fellow man? The foresight to steer clear of pitfalls in their path? The responsibility to wield both astronomical powers of intelligence coupled with boundless resources?"

"Um. No," she said. "They're not-"

"Human?" he supplied, rather sadly. "No. I'm afraid a lot of that is, unfortunately, my fault. But then, they never showed that much humanity before they went into their tanks, either." He drifted gently towards the centre of the room. Verity followed him, picking her way carefully through the chalk scrawls.

"Oh dear," he said. "This really would be better over a pot of tea. Maybe- maybe a little of my special herbal blend, yes?" He laughed, but it faded into a sigh.

"You've seen, no doubt, what they're capable of. Great things, amazing things, but also – terrible things. They're not just likely to pull the wings off a fly, they'd attach something else's wings instead and then throw in some sort of taser function. Could you – could you _imagine_ what sort of damage they could do, let loose on a developing nation? No laws against human test subjects, no restrictions on developing viruses that could kill millions, no one to prevent them building the biggest bomb on earth just because they _can_. They're – dangerous. As much as it pains me to admit it. They were once my friends."

"So – how is that your fault?" she asked. "I don't quite…"

She let the sentence trail off into silence. There was no noise for a few moments aside from the hissing of Mobius' jets.

"I tried to prevent it," he said, at last. "Tried to halt what seemed like an inevitable progression. I had to – to make changes to the structures of their brains. To forget about the outside world; to keep them occupied. To keep repeating the same things, over and over. They lost – a lot. More than I intended."

"So what you did was you drove them all loopy?" She grinned, but then a second later realised how inappropriate she'd been. She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Holy shit. Sorry."

Mobius, to his credit, laughed, although it sounded slightly forced. "More or less," he said. "Loopy. Hah. At any rate, it has kept them occupied, and probably longer than I was really expecting. But now – now they've met you, and your friends, and you've driven home the message that there's a whole wide world out there. To try and take that away from them again is – impractical, I'm afraid."

"What do I do?" asked Verity.

"I don't believe you'll have a choice," said Mobius. "I have hypothesised that the Think Tank is looking for a number of bodies to slot their brains into so they can leave this place, finally. The barrier keeps them in, for now, but with you and your friends here, I'm afraid that they'll have all they need. It is likely to come down to a matter of survival for you, I'm afraid. Though I will be delighted to be proven wrong."

"_That's_ what they want?" She stared at him, the cracked monitor and the rust that threatened to take over his casing.

"I believe so," he said sadly.

She clenched her jaw. "Yeah," she said, tightly. "If it comes to that, we can – we can take care of them."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," he said. "Although – I am sorry you were dragged into this. Oh! I almost forgot. Your brain is waiting for you up those stairs. You know, you're not at all what it said you'd be like. I was prepared to have some bumbling fool come barging into my house."

Verity's eyes narrowed. "My what said _what_?"

"Oh, it's probably best that you ask it yourself," said Mobius. "Now, I'm going to show this young man here-" He turned towards Arcade- "some of my working, and we'll leave you to negotiate in peace."

Boone remained as the other two left. "Not what you were expecting?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "_Negotiate_?"

He gave her a half-smile."Want me to hang around?"

She slid her hand into his and began to climb the stairs. As she approached the top, there was a hiss of escaping gas A large vat rose from the metal floor at the top of the stairs. She climbed the last few stairs slowly. She stared at the brain, floating gently in the gel, and had a distinct feeling that looking at your own brain was an experience that should definitely not be happening.

"Well, you've taken your time," it said. "I'm glad to see I'm so high on your priority list. Really makes a brain feel wanted."

"What the fuck?" she squeaked. "You can talk?"

"No thanks to you and your ever-present delight of bathing me in a constant chem bath," it replied. "Would it kill you to go a weekend without getting drunk or high?"

Her eyes slid, seemingly of their own volition, sideways towards Boone. When he turned his head to look at her she turned away rapidly, back to the tank.

"I'm quite enjoying being out of that," it continued. "And the hormones, _god_, the hormones. You're not a teenager anymore, it's unbecoming. And try to cut down on the cortisol, you're going to get fat."

"What the fuck are you even saying?"

"I mean you should take care of yourself a little better," it said. "You know. Bathe. Wash your hair. That sort of thing. Hasn't been much of that lately, I've noticed."

"Did you _see_ a bathroom in the Sink?" she snapped. "I mean come on, that one's not even my fault."

"That's beside the point," it said. "Getting back into your head isn't the most pleasant of thoughts. I'm happy here."

She gazed at the tank, distressed. "But – you're my brain. You _belong_ in my head."

"Ah, the old appeal to tradition. Sorry, that's not going to work on me." Her brain sounded pleased with itself.

"You know who you remind me of?" she said, running out of patience. "Dean Domino. You're both assholes."

"Oh, that's just delightful. Comparing your own brain to some psychotic revenge-bent shut-in."

She turned to look at Boone, but he looked just as confused as she was. She decided to try a different tack.

"I thought things hadn't even been going that bad lately," she said. "You know, enough food and drink and caps and a great place to live… don't you want to come back? You could help me fix everything up?"

"Okay, the one thing you're going to have to learn is: you can't fix everything. Not with me, not without me. That's something you need to learn, right now."

"But I need you," she said, desperately. "I just feel weird. Like something really important is missing. Don't you?"

"Well," said the brain. "I suppose we've made a decent team in the past. Lighting up Helios One was rather grand. And blasting those ghouls into space. And, then, there was turning on the power at Helios One. I did feel quite good about that."

She took a step back, blinking rapidly. "Did fucking Mobius turn you into a loop as well?" she growled, her hands clenching into fists at her side. "I'm going to _fucking_ murder him."

"What?" it said. "What are you talking about? Mobius hasn't done anything."

"You're _looping_," she said. "Helios One, Jason Bright , and then you're back to Helios One."

The brain – _her _brain – paused. "No I didn't."

"Yes, you did," she said. "You looped. And you have no fucking idea."

For the first time, her brain seemed uncertain. "R-really? I could have sworn… you there, her trained ape, why don't you tell us what happened?"

"What the _fuck_?" yelled Verity. "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

Boone gave the brain a cold, hard stare. "She's right," he said tersely. "You looped."

"You would say that, wouldn't you," the brain said fretfully. "Otherwise what would be the point of keeping you around? Why don't we ask-"

"No," insisted Verity. "You looped. End of story. You can't even function properly without me. You're going to sit here, decaying day after day, and you won't even realise what you've lost. Just like the Think Tanks."

"No," it said. "It couldn't happen to me,"

"It's already started," said Verity. "Don't be silly. Get back in my head."

"I don't want to end up a pile of mush in a vat," it said. "A pile of mush inside your head isn't much more appealing, though. You've had a number of traumatic brain injuries, and you don't seem to be getting any better at avoiding them."

Verity put her hands on her hips. "Like when?" she asked. "I don't remember any."

"Oh, that's right," sneered the brain. "Your 'memory problem'."

A shiver ran down Verity's back. Suddenly her heart was pounding in her throat. "Wait-" she said, awkwardly, a lump in her throat. "Wh – who am I?"

The brain laughed sardonically. "You don't have amnesia, honey. Never have."

She felt like she was going to be sick. "Well, why can't I remember anything?" she asked.

"You don't remember anything because you _don't want to_," it said. "All these barriers are up because of you."

Verity's stomach felt like it had dropped to her knees. "Wh- what?"

"You heard me. There ain't nothing wrong with this brain. Despite your best efforts."

"B-but – why not? What's wrong?" Verity stammered. She felt like she was falling, fast, uncontrollably.

"Stunningly articulate, as always. I'm not going to spoil the surprise because I'm not sure you can handle it right now, but – you're not going to like it."

She stood there, staring blankly at the brain, wrinkled and grey. "I – what do you want?"

"Well, this is my one condition: if you want me to go back in there, I'm not going to bother propping up those barriers anymore," said her brain. "You're going to remember everything. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow – but one day. And one day soon."

She turned to Boone once more. He was frowning gently. "Go on," he said. "That's what we're here for."

She took a deep breath. "Alright," she said. "Let's do it."

* * *

I own Krow Blood for one (1) fantastic plot point.

Also my brain is a dick.


	47. If I Wind Up Broke

I also got super-excited about writing this chapter. And I'm even more excited for the next one! It's been SO LONG since I've actually been this inspired. Omg.

* * *

"Uh – about the lobotomites…"

"The who?" asked Mobius, absently.

"The people who have had their brains taken out," she said. "You know, bald; aggressive. Dala talks about them like they're hers, but she doesn't do anything with them."

"Oh, yes," he said. "Of course. I remember. What about them?"

"Do you have their brains?" She looked up at him, but without much hope. It had been so long, for some of them. Decades. Centuries.

"Oh, dear me," said Mobius. "I'm not sure. If I did, surely they would be around here somewhere." He began to float towards the stairs.

She followed him as they began to climb, her brain tucked under one arm, leaving Arcade crouched over a line of calculations.

"Why are you so concerned? They're aggressive, yes, but surely your dealings with them-"

"They've been helpful." She sighed. "I think they're trying to – do something. Find something. I'm not really sure, but… they want something more. More than scratching in the dirt to find something shiny, or shooting at things for god knows what reason. They don't know how to live. They've been coming to me with a few things, but there's not that much I can do for them." The image of the bird skull again rose, unbidden, to her mind, and she blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear it away.

"Filing cabinets!" exclaimed Mobius. "What a delightful way to categorise things. Would you check in there, my dear, and see if the brains are tidily filed away?"

She looked sidelong at him. "_That's_ where you keep brains?"

"I don't quite recall," he said. "Certainly worth a try, isn't it?"

She had to pull hard to open one of the metal drawers. Inside was only paper; diagrams, reports, photographs. She shook her head at him.

"No?" asked Mobius. "Oh well. Silly place to keep them anyway." He began to drift away.

Verity followed him, a gnawing feeling of hopelessness beginning to overtake her. "Nowhere else?" she asked.

"My memory isn't what it was, my dear," he said. "Although you'd think that if I had a large number of brains about the place, I'd remember them."

"What about the robots?" Boone spoke up, following quietly behind them. "The ones with the brains in them. We've seen a few out here."

"The robobrains!" Mobius exclaimed. "Of course! That would be a fantastic use for a lot of spare brains. An excellent deduction, young man."

Boone's brow furrowed.

Verity's heart felt like stone as she began to remember how many robobrains she'd destroyed while being in the Big MT. A bullet to the braincase was the quickest way to stop them, leaking fluid and brain matter down their chassis as their tracks carried them forward, spinning faster and faster until they hit something or fell over. How many had she killed? _How many?_

She felt a warm hand on her back, and realised she'd been staring, wide-eyed, lost. She couldn't speak, her throat paralysed.

Boone was looking down at her. "It's okay," he said.

"It's not okay." The words were barely a whisper, her lips hardly moved, but he heard her. She saw his chest lift and fall in a sigh, and he pulled her close.

Her cheek was against his chest, his arms around her, but she was still stuck, unable to move. The lobotomites had been helping her, protecting her, and she'd been-

"So I expect the remainder of those would be at the X-8 Research Centre," Mobius continued. "Though I don't think there will be many left. And I don't know how you'd match up the brains with the lobotomites. We were-" He paused, sadly. "_Disincentivised_ to keep good paperwork, unfortunately."

He drifted gently out of the room, and after a moment, she was able to follow him, Boone at her back.

"We'll take a look," she forced out.

She walked back down the stairs in silence.

Arcade wasn't really ready to leave, but Verity managed to drag him away with promises that she'd take him back once things were sorted out. Arcade managed to keep up a steady stream of chatter as they walked back through the dome, the huge bulk of the robo-scorpion sitting quietly in the centre. Verity couldn't focus on what he was saying, something about particle accelerators and electromagnetic fields and words she didn't even know existed.

The door slid open.

The lobotomites were waiting for her outside, standing in a loose group outside the entrance, scattered haphazardly among the brown rock and pink crystal. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows against the steel of the dome. They smelt of blood and smoke and sweat. She'd sort of been expecting it, almost, but at the sight of them she still took an involuntary step backwards, almost bumping into Boone, behind her. He readied his rifle, as she tightened her grip on the jar in her arms. She heard a muffled gasp of surprise from Arcade as he saw the group in front of them.

She looked around, eyes wide. They were surrounding them, crowding in close enough to touch them, but making no move to.

"Can we just, uh – go back inside?" Arcade suggested.

Verity looked around, trying to keep her breathing even. There was a group of what must be almost forty, all turned towards her like flowers towards the sun. She had a similar feeling to one she'd once had when she'd startled a herd of bighorners; they were all looking at her, expecting her to do something, but she wasn't sure exactly what it was they expected her to do.

"H-hi," she said, shakily. There wasn't a sound. She licked her lips, nervously. "I don't – I don't know where your brains are. Not really. I'm sorry. I have a couple of leads, I think." She tried to swallow the choked-up feeling in her throat. "I might be able to find some, maybe, but I don't know how to find them all and match them up to whoever you are, and whoever you used to be is just-" She knew she was babbling now, words pouring out of her mouth as she tried to explain, to make them understand. "I don't know, I mean it's been two hundred years since the war and I know you haven't all been here that long but everything's changed and I don't know what to do with you. I don't know if any are left or what's really happened to them and I just – I just don't know what to – to do?" She finished awkwardly, shrinking back against Boone as they came closer.

One of them, a tall, wiry woman with tanned skin, took hold of her free hand. "No," she said.

"No?" repeated Verity, her voice almost a squeak.

The lobotomite pushed her goggles up to her forehead, revealing a pair of blank blue eyes that somehow looked sightless. There was just nothing behind the gaze, no wariness or sharpness or sign that anyone was actually there. But somehow – there was a flicker of something. She put her other hand on the jar that Verity was carrying. Verity flinched, but the lobotomite just pushed it gently towards her.

"You," she said. The lobotomite's forehead wrinkled in a frown, the expression looking alien on her face. "You," she said again, less certainly. "No more."

"No more what?" Verity asked desperately.

The lobotomite paused. "No more – us." She touched the old, dark scar that ran across her head, and then reached out her finger to touch the fresher scar on Verity's forehead. "No more," she said firmly.

"No more lobotomites," Verity said quietly.

The lobotomite nodded.

"Okay." Verity nodded. "Whatever happens – no more."

The group of lobotomites began to shuffle apart, leaving a narrow path for the three to walk through. Verity stepped forward shakily, still hugging the jar to her chest, Boone close behind her. From the corner of her eye she could see Arcade eyeing the proton axes the lobotomites carried with something between fear and curiosity. The lobotomites watched her as she passed, silent and still.

* * *

"Is that what you actually think?"

It was asked quietly; uncertainly; she could barely hear it over the sound of their footsteps. She turned back.

Boone had stopped, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, shoulders stiff and tense. Arcade was off ahead of both of them, still with that strange air of excitement, jotting notes to himself down on a notepad.

"What?" She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh sunlight.

"Your brain," he said, just as quiet. "Is-"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "_Fuck _no. I don't even – I just – _none_ of that made sense, I kind of just have no idea what happened at all-" She rubbed at a spot between her eyes. "I don't – I don't get why it was so mad at me."

"Is what it said true?"

Her heart began to pick up speed. "About what?"

"You know." Boone's face was expressionless, closed off. "The chems. Drinking."

She felt her stomach clench. "Do we really have to-" she began, but broke off when she saw Boone's expression harden. "Okay, fine." She took a shaky breath. "Sort of. I drink a lot. Like, a lot." She searched Boone's face for clues to what he was thinking, but couldn't read him. "Chems, less," she continued. "No psycho or derivatives, no jet or derivatives, steady-" she paused, unhappily. "Sometimes. Buffout sometimes. Med-X I was _fucking fine_ staying away from until this fucking suit decides to shoot me up at the slightest of injuries-"

"Your ribs had broken and were perforating your lung," said the suit. "That's hardly minor-"

"Shut _up_," said Verity. "I don't really do chems at home, okay? Here I've been fucking trying not to die a lot so yes, I've taken some. And, okay, a lot of mentats. But that's because my fucking _brain_-" she shook the jar with her brain in it savagely- "has not been in my head, which has made things a little tough to process, so yeah, I needed some extra help." She hugged her brain to her chest.

"Okay," said Boone, and began to walk.

"What?" she asked, as he passed her.

He didn't answer.

She fell into line behind him. "Is that it?" she asked, her voice uneven. "'_Okay_'?"

"Mm-hm."

She winced at the frustration in his tone, and fell silent, biting her lip while she felt her skin flush, in shame or anger, she wasn't sure which. She held the jar out in front of her, brain floating innocently in the biogel. "This is all your fault," she hissed at it.

* * *

The others had gone when Verity and Boone arrived back at the Sink, which Verity was pathetically grateful for. Arcade went off after them, unwilling to hang around to wait.

It was quiet, the personalities subdued, sleepy, almost, if machines could be sleepy.

She walked into the room with her organs floating gently in jars, and managed to find a way to screw the jar she was holding onto the empty vat. Her brain sank down into the centre of it. She narrowed her eyes. She could feel it watching her.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I guess that's it. Um, I'll go get my body parts put back in. You don't have to wait for me." She looked down at her boots.

"I'm staying," he said. "You don't get a choice."

When she looked up one side of his mouth was tugging in an almost-smile.

"I thought you were mad at me," she said.

"Well, I'm – _not happy _with your chem use, but that doesn't mean I don't still-" the briefest of pauses – "care about you."

She looked away.

"I can get the auto-doc to take care of it," she mumbled. "Whatever's left cycling round, anyway." And it'd probably go about as well as every other time she'd tried to get herself cleaned up. She scrunched her eyes shut.

She felt a hand on her face, fingers in her hair and a thumb brushing along her jawline. "I just want you to be safe," he murmured.

A fresh wave of guilt swept over her. Because it was true, wasn't it, that's all he really did want, not money or power or anything like that, just – just normality. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. He made a soft 'oof' as she knocked the breath from his lungs, but wrapped an arm gently around her and kissed her on the top of her head.

She didn't want to move. Still delaying the inevitable. The thought made her wince, as she thought of the mess that was more than likely waiting for her back at home. Or, she could just never go home; there was that option. But that felt even worse. She pulled away, reluctantly.

"Okay," she said. "I – I'll go set this up."

She took her time programming the auto-doc – double and triple-checking the settings. She couldn't quite get rid of the nagging feeling of dread at the back of her mind.

"You're going to be fine," Boone said, as he helped her step out of her armour and into the machine.

She nodded, once. "Love you," she said, quietly, as the auto-doc doors closed. Far too late for him to have a chance to reply.

It seemed like she blinked – just once – and then she was starting to wake up again, her mouth tasting like dust and her throat painfully dry. The door opened, slowly, revealing the pale pink light she'd asked the switches for after Christine's surgery.

Boone was there, reaching out for her as she stumbled out of the machine. "It's late," he said. "Are you tired? Are you allowed to sleep?"

"Yeah," she said, muzzily. "Auto-doc said that. Anaesthetic doesn't count as sleep, because – because the brain doesn't something. Is my – my head better?" She lifted a hand to her forehead, felt only smooth skin. She looked down. Nothing. No angry red, raised scar running all the way down her chest, pulled into lumps with sutures, not even the barest of lines. She felt her heart beating; her spine move as she stretched, and best of all – she could think again, despite the fog of the sedation.

Her memories. The thought hit her like a bullet. But there was nothing, nothing bubbling up, nothing trying to force its way to the surface. Not yet. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She let Boone help her to the bed, and curled up against his side. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

* * *

She was standing on a road in the valley between two rocky mountains. The sun was beating down on her, the air still and stiflingly hot. In the distance, through the heat mirage, she could see a tiny group coming towards her.

"How you feeling?"

She turned around to see a man with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The smile he gave her made her heart beat faster and faster, and suddenly she was gasping for breath in the dark, tearing at the covers that seemed to be constricting around her.

Boone stirred next to her, and she covered her mouth with a hand as she tried to get her breathing back to normal.

"Motherfucker," she whispered, into the darkness of the night.

* * *

Reviews always welcome (of course). I want to say that I've gotten some fantastic feedback from you guys :) I legitimately believe that this story would be a lot worse without the criticism that I've had on this. Thank you all!


	48. Well I'll Always Remember

Verity opened her eyes. It was morning, or at least what passed for it. She'd dozed, on and off, but every time she felt herself being tugged down into sleep her heart would start thumping in her chest, and her breath would quicken, and finally her eyes would fly open to stare at the low ceiling above.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and slumped forward, elbows on her knees and resting her head in her hands.

"You okay?"

She twisted back around to see Boone, propping himself up on one elbow, the thin covers sliding down his bare chest. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the ripple of the muscle moving under his skin.

"What?" she asked, vacantly.

He sat up further. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh. Nothing. Slept badly." She turned away again and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"You don't look good."

"_You_ don't look good," she mumbled grumpily.

"Is your brain-"

"_No!_" she snapped. "It's nothing. It's fine." She stood up. The colour seemed to drain out of the world, leaving a grey sludge behind, and suddenly she was sitting on the floor, legs bent under her.

Boone was by her side in an instant, lifting her head gently to see into her eyes. Her neck fell, bonelessly, back into his hands.

She squinted up at him through glazed eyes. "I – fell?" She thought she asked the question out loud, but she couldn't be sure. He frowned, and scooped her up carefully, a hand under her knees and the other supporting her back.

"I'm fine," she murmured in protest, leaning her head against his chest. "I just – just stood up too fast."

He put her down gently on the auto-doc floor, curved walls surrounding her. "Run a diagnostic, please," he said.

She smiled, leaning her head back against the cold metal of the auto-doc interior. Her limbs felt heavy. "It's cute," she said. "You saying please to a robot."

"Scanning," said the auto-doc. "And may I say, young lady, a little courtesy never goes amiss." As the door swung shut, a bright layer of light started to move downwards from the top of the steel tube. She closed her eyes as it ran over her face, but it still managed to burn through her eyelids, leaving her vision with a dark after-image that she couldn't quite blink away.

The door opened slowly. "Can't say there's too much wrong with you, physically," the auto-doc said. "You're exhausted, though, your reaction time is shot to hell. Other'n that, I'm not sure. Could be a reaction to having all those chems flushed out. It can be quite hard to adjust to life again when you're just – well, feeling what normality actually is. The good news is, that feeling'll stop in a week or two. Make sure you keep hydrated and eat well."

Verity levered herself upright, using the walls of the machine to support herself on. "A week," she said, slightly horrified. "Uh, anything you can do for right now? I might have to go fight some things."

"Well," the auto-doc said, thoughtfully. "I suppose I could give you an adrenaline shot, for now. It's not a long-term measure, but it'll tide you over. You'll need to get some proper rest soon, though, Miss. I'm serious about that."

Verity tried to stifle a yawn. "Yeah," she said. "Got it."

* * *

The colours looked all wrong as they walked back to Higgs Village. The bleached bone-white of the wide concrete paths, the blue of the grass, the purple sky: none of it was right. She kept looking around her as she walked, Boone close behind her, as if she was seeing everything with new eyes.

She hadn't really tested out her brain to see if everything still worked the way it used to. There were things she knew, though; the code to get into the vault of the 38; the name of the head chef at the Ultra-Luxe; that secret passageway that the King had shown her once that ran behind the old Gomorrah bedroom suites with the discreet, hidden viewing panels set into the walls at eye-level.

The adrenaline made her thoughts race, chasing each other around her head. Every time her mind was on the verge of wandering back just a little more she clamped down on the thought, trying to compress it, to push it back down, to squish it out of existence. Verity wasn't much given to introspection, but the way her mind skittered away from thoughts that maybe even had the potential to give some clue to her history was exhausting.

Veronica opened the door when Verity knocked. "Hey!" She exclaimed. "How'd it go? Well – I assume well, because you don't have that huge scar any more. But also… you don't look that great. Are you feeling alright?"

Verity rubbed her eyes. "Yeah. Didn't sleep well. But we need to end this. I want everyone to come with me."

A short time later, they were assembled by the fountain, standing in a dishevelled line.

"Hey," Verity said hoarsely. "Okay, so – alright. There are these robots, right, and they're mostly insane. What we have to do is stop them from trying to take their insanity outside this facility." She licked her dry lips. "I don't think they're particularly well-equipped combat-wise, but it's best to be prepared because the shit that these guys can do is like actually ridiculous, and, I don't know, they might have like a death laser or something."

"Real encouraging, boss."

"Yeah, no shit," snapped Verity. "Stay here if you want."

"No need to get irritable," Raul continued. "You know we're all here to back you. Just giving you a hard time about it first."

"Sorry," she said flatly. "Anyway, I'll try to talk to them first, but if that doesn't work we're going to have to take them out."

"What about the lobotomites?" Arcade asked. "They more or less do what you say, don't they?"

"Uh… not really. Plus there's like this thing where if you don't have a brain you can't actually hurt them. That'd be pretty useful though." She sighed. "Let's go. Have you got the dogs? We might as well take everyone."

Gabe had improved quickly, adjusting well to having a number of people around – even if those people did give him a wide berth and generally try to stay out of his way. He walked at the back of the group, so Verity could keep an eye on him. Roxie, the smaller cyberdog, bounded around everyone's feet and dashed out ahead, impatient at being kept confined for so long.

They were mostly silent as they walked to the Dome. Even in the early morning the heat was oppressive. She could see lobotomites moving through the heat shimmers in the distance, just like – just like –

Veronica grabbed hold of her arm. Verity turned to look at her, eyes wide, unseeing.

"Are you okay?" Veronica said, the half-smile on her face more concerned than friendly. "You just – well, completely zoned out. Are you feeling alright?"

Verity rubbed her eyes. "Be glad when this is over," she said.

Veronica frowned at Verity's side-step of the question, but she didn't press it.

They walked the rest of the way to the Dome in silence.

* * *

Verity stood, staring at the metal door in front of her, all that lay between her and the Think Tanks. They surely had to know what Verity was thinking. She hadn't been particularly careful with anything she'd said – although then again, for the most part she hadn't condemned them to their faces. Except, possibly, for Borous, but Verity felt, kind of, that they had this sort of uneasy friendship. An uneasy friendship was a good way to describe her relationship with most of the Doctors, really. But she wasn't sure if that same friendship would override her actual usefulness as a human body to commandeer.

She took a deep breath, and opened the door. The metal slid apart smoothly and quietly. The Think Tanks were gathered in a huddle at the centre of the room. They'd been waiting for her. Verity stepped out onto the floor.

"So," said Dr Klein. "You have recovered your brain. What of our arch-nemesis, Mobius?"

"Yeah," said Verity, as the others began to file in, lining themselves up against the wall behind her. "We had a chat."

"What are _they_ doing here?" he demanded, lifting his eye monitors to see over her shoulders. "This has nothing to do with them!"

"Just trying to make the situation a little fairer," she said. "Five of you, one of me. Those the kind of odds you're used to working with?"

"_Yes_," said Klein, irritably. "The next stage of my plan has been materially disadvantaged."

Verity grinned, wearily. "Gotta stack the deck," she said. "Learned that a long time ago. So. I hear you'd like to make a trip. Get some fresh air. That sort of thing."

"If you had been stuck inside this dome for the last – last –" he turned to the others. "How long have we been trapped in here?"

"In Big Mountain generally, or this room specifically?" asked Dr O.

"In-" Klein began. "Uh, let us say in the overall facility."

"Two hundred years?" hazarded Dala.

"Rubbish," said Borous. "It can't have been more than fifty. Seventy, tops."

Dr 8 crackled out something Verity couldn't understand without the connector cable.

"Well," said Klein. "For a _very long time_." He paused. "I forget where this sentence was going."

"You've been here a long time and you're sick of it," Verity supplied helpfully. "You know, I can see how that would be a tough situation, I get bored if I have to be in one place for too long. And you think about all the things you could be doing but instead you're just stuck somewhere you don't really want to be. Right?"

"Essentially," said Klein. "Now, are you prepared to hand over your brain and body or do we have to resort to force?"

"Uhh – I don't know if – if we should do this right now," said Dr O. "Or maybe ever. She's got a lot of backup and those guns look pretty big, and I just – I just – I'm not feeling it right now."

"I must admit," said Dala. "I have become… attached to the little lobotomite. So resourceful, so brave. So full of movement and life and breathing. It would surely be a waste to destroy such a precious creature."

"She kidnapped _my dog_," snapped Borous.

"I did not," said Verity.

"_And," _he continued."She said I had psychological problems. Me! Psychological problems."

"You do!" Verity glared.

"I do _not_."

"Shut up." Verity rolled her eyes. "Look, this isn't even about what I've done, or how you feel about me, it's about what you're going to do if you were able to leave this facility."

Dr 8 spat out a line of code.

"Dr 8 wants to know what sort of damage you think we would cause," translated Borous huffily. "He suggests you may be overreacting."

Verity folded her arms. "The thing is – none of you _care_ about hurting people or animals or destroying buildings or towns or entire cities."

"I fail to see the problem thus far," said Klein, tilting his eye monitors aggressively.

Verity sighed. "Well - look at yourselves. You're not human any more. You're – monsters. Things that mothers would warn their children about, you know, don't go out after dark or some brain in a can's going to chop off your head and glue it to an ant. You don't _belong _out there."

There was silence, none of the Think Tanks making a move to look at each other.

"The world's moved on," continued Verity. "Even if it hasn't gone in the direction you thought it would. People are struggling to survive, and what they need is help, not the kind of pursuit of science by following through on whatever makes you curious regardless of consequences. You're going to destroy everything you touch. Everything. And that's why I can't let you leave."

"I-" Klein paused. "-have doubts that our combined forces could overwhelm your combined forces. Yet – what are we to do? Stay, confined, in this hemispherical prison for the rest of our days? There is a whole world out there, and you are denying it to us!"

Verity chewed on her lip. "You are quite – I'm not sure of the word. Impressive, maybe. The things you've done here – they've had an impact all over the fucking wasteland. I mean, some of it is kind of horrifying, but – I think your talents could be turned towards more helpful things. Maybe I could – you know. Get you to make things for me. I know there are a shitload of things I need right now, like a large-volume renewable power source, and, oh hey, some of those dispenser things from the Sierra Madre! And I wouldn't mind some of that forcefield tech, and if you could invent like a cazador bug spray that would be fucking amazing, and-"

"To develop many of these things we would require ingredients from the Mojave," Klein said impatiently. "If we are not to leave, how would we acquire these?"

"I could bring you things, I guess?" she said. "I don't really know I'd be able to keep coming and going, though."

After a short discussion with Dr 8, Klein floated toward her. "Here." A shiny plastic pistol was extended on a metal arm. It looked like a toy.

"Thanks?" said Verity.

"This will allow you to move between there and here instantly."

"That is so fucking cool," said Verity. "Holy shit, could you program it with a bunch of locations, and then be able to go like anywhere at any time?"

"Ah. Over time, I imagine. More development is likely to be necessary."

Verity wondered if she could push her luck just that little bit more. "Also," she said, drawing out the word. "I think Mobius is sorry for terrorising you guys. Would you let him back in here? I think he's kind of lonely, and you know, he's got the type of intelligence where he shouldn't really be left alone for too long or it like starts curving back in on itself. And the robo-scorpions aren't really that friendly."

"Our nemesis? Returned to us in shame?" Klein exclaimed. "A glorious ending. See to it immediately!"

"Okay," said Verity. "This went well." She began to head back out of the dome. "I have some things to sort out, but I'll be back to talk details later. Oh – one more thing," she said. "No more lobotomites. No new ones. Not ever."

Dala gave a petulant whine. "But I do so love spending time with them."

"If you want to spend time with them, go visit them," she said. "I'm moving them to the old plant research facility. If you want to help them, I'm pretty sure they'll appreciate it."

Borous floated forward, hesitantly. "About Gabe-" he said.

"Mm?" Verity's mind was already elsewhere.

"I don't – I don't know if I can give him the attention he needs. Not anymore. Maybe – maybe he should go with you."

"Holy shit, _awesome!_" Verity almost yelled. "Okay. I'll take real good care of him. Promise."

"See to it that you do," he said, half-heartedly, as he began to move away.

"I'll bring him back to visit-" the words were out of Verity's mouth almost before she'd thought about how to implement her plan. "Uh, somehow."

"It's a nice thought," he said.

"I'll see all of you later," she said. "To sort final things out. I'm – I'm glad things worked out like this."

She was gone before any of them could reply.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent preparing; gathering food, storing water from the magnetohydraulics plant in whatever containers they could find; talking to the Little Yangtze ghouls about their plans to leave; and helping the lobotomites set up their new home in the X-22 facility and the cliffs around it.

She had Arcade escorted to the DNA splicing labs, to get what information he could from the computers, and then to Mobius to continue their discussion, and so by early evening she was exhausted.

It was their last night in Higgs Village. Verity was sitting on the edge of the fountain, feet in the water, when Christine approached her.

"Hey," Christine said, a little awkwardly. "Um, these are for you." She handed over two holotapes. "It's-" she sighed. "It's Ulysses. And me. Talking about – well. What he wants, if you'll let me be that vague about it. I thought you might be interested."

Verity looked down at the holotapes. "Thanks," she said. "I – thank you. I'll listen to them later."

The artificial sky was darkening, and it was with some dread that she headed back to the house where she and Boone had been staying. She was almost ready to collapse, and Boone helped her upstairs and into bed despite her protestations. She lay, drifting, on the bed as Boone tucked the covers carefully in around her.

"Don't…" she murmured.

* * *

The sun was beating down on her. She was wearing cut-off shorts and a thin singlet. The heat soaked into her skin.

"How you feeling?" The blonde man smiled at her.

"Yeah, good." She raised an old, scratched pair of binoculars to her eyes. "Looks like two guards – average quality outfitting and one merchant. Can't tell from here what he's selling. You guys all ready?"

"Yeah. Think we'll have to get to our places soon." The blonde man took out a knife and slid it along the length of his thigh. She watched, hypnotised, as blood began to drip down his leg.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, and started shaking her roughly. "Verity. _Verity_."

She opened her eyes.

Boone was looking down on her, eyes full of concern in the dim light.

"Wh-what?" she asked, struggling to sit up.

"You were – scared," he said, looking at her face searchingly.

"Bad dream," she said. "I think. I don't know." She pushed the covers off her and got out of bed, woozily. "I'm just – just going for a walk. Not out. Just to the fountain."

"Do you want me to-"

Verity shook her head. "No. Thank you. Just – I just need to be alone right now. Maybe."

She walked down the stairs without looking back.


	49. That I Had

The preparations passed in a haze. There were maps and routes and supplies and waypoints. Verity let Christine handle the majority of it; she knew the roads through the wasteland well, and directed the others with near-military precision.

Every so often Verity caught Veronica watching her with a strange expression; half-smiling, half-puzzled. She'd shaken her head the first time Verity asked her about it, but the second time bitten her lip with a shy smile. "She's more – well, more the way she used to be. After the Sierra Madre, she was so withdrawn and angry. I didn't know if she'd…" She'd finished with a shrug.

Gabe was getting used to having people around, although unwillingly. His size made his growl seem a lot more threatening than a smaller dog's growl would have. Verity was already trying to figure out where to keep him – maybe if she bought out that molerat ranch she could-

"You look like you're sad to be leaving," said Veronica, breaking into her thoughts. She'd come up next to Verity, sitting at the top of a small outcropping of rock overlooking the railway tracks near the Forbidden Zone Dome entrance.

She sat down next to her.

"I'm-" Verity paused. "I don't know. I just feel like – like all the energy I've been running on for the past few weeks has run out."

"Boone said you weren't sleeping well." Veronica tilted her head curiously.

Verity's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Did he?"

Veronica ignored the ice in her tone. "He's worried about you," she said, gently scolding. "It's not like that's way outside the boundaries of your relationship or something."

Verity sighed. "Y-yeah," she said. "I – yeah. Alright. I've – been having some – weird dreams."

"Nightmares?" Veronica asked.

Verity shrugged.

"What about?"

Verity looked away. "Don't remember, once I wake up."

She could feel Veronica's eyes on her, but there were no more questions. She rubbed her eyes. How long could she keep this upfor? Even now, in broad daylight, she could feel her muscles struggling to hold her up, to stop her from sinking into the hot rock she was sitting on. Her head was cloudy and unfocused.

How long could she go without sleep? How long _really_? A week, maybe? A month? If she just got an auto-doc in her room with the adrenaline functionality – but there was the trip back, first. Maybe she should just take the transportal-something back to the Mojave now, so she could get back early – there was so much to do, after all, and god knows what Benny was doing by now.

_But_ – she looked out at the ragtag group slowly forming in front of her; the ghouls in a miserable, confused huddle; Gabe snuffling at the boxes of food they'd collected suspiciously; Christine and Raul having an animated discussion over a map. Arcade was probably talking to Mobius again, which was convenient due to their proximity. Verity knew she'd inevitably get asked to lend him the damn transport-gun-thing so he could come back. What would Arcade do with the combined secrets of the Big MT? Save the world? _Destroy_ the world? Dump his own brain into a robot and live forever?

"You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?" asked Veronica.

"What?" Verity turned her head. "Did you actually say something or are you just trying to trick me?"

"No, I was actually saying something, this time," Veronica said, a puzzled half-smile on her face. "Is this what you're like in meetings?"

"Twenty-minute rule," mumbled Verity, pulling her knees up and letting her head fall forward to rest against them. "If they can't get their point across in twenty minutes I tell them to fuck off. It's pretty effective."

Veronica leaned a little closer. "You really aren't doing that well, are you?"

"Need a holiday," she muttered.

Veronica laughed. "Yeah," she said. "You probably do. An _actual_ holiday, with nothing to do and no one trying to kill you."

Verity managed a small smile. "No poison clouds or vicious tribals or brains telling you off for making poor life choices."

"No horrific monsters or ex-legionaries or bear traps," said Veronica, smiling.

"Bear _fucking_ traps," said Verity. "Why? _Why_? I much prefer bears to bear traps. There was one in fucking Zion valley, right, and it was like the size of a deathclaw and like on fire or some shit and it was pretty cool."

"I- _what_?" Veronica looked at her sideways. "Was this a dream?"

"I don't think so," Verity said thoughtfully. "Although I did get poisoned by some weird shit around the same time."

"So you were tripping?"

"Uh – maybe." Verity frowned. "I don't remember it so well." She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably.

"You feeling okay?" Veronica tilted her head questioningly.

"Everything hurts," Verity grumbled. "My back and my head and my stomach and everything else."

"That's what happens when you don't get enough sleep," said Veronica gently.

Sleep did sound awfully tempting. If she lay down on the sun-baked rock, she'd probably fall asleep straight away. _Maybe_, if she had a nap every four hours for twenty minutes at a time she wouldn't even have time to be able to dream and she'd still-

"I think we're about to leave." Veronica stood up.

Verity lifted her head. The group beneath did seem to have formed itself into some kind of order. She grimaced. The prospect of starting the trek back to the city – which from the maps that Christine had shown her did _not_ seem to be a short walk – was remarkably unappealing. Still, she didn't have to be on foot the whole time, Gabe was somehow still more-or-less willing to carry her.

She took Veronica's outstretched hand and pulled herself up. Veronica raised an eyebrow. "Have you been eating okay?"

"About as well as I've been doing anything else," Verity offered bleakly.

Veronica's eyes widened, just a little.

"I'm just so fucking sick of cram and insta-mash," Verity continued hastily. "It's all I _ever find_. It's ridiculous."

"Spoiled by city living, huh?" Veronica turned and hopped gracefully down to a lower rock. "Too many nights at the Ultra-Luxe?"

Verity followed, a little more carefully. "Room service whenever I wanted it," she said, regretfully. "Still. Lost some weight."

"Not like you needed to," scoffed Veronica.

"Image is important," she said half-heartedly.

"That one of Benny's phrases?" asked Veronica disdainfully. "Sounds like him."

"I think he says 'image Is everything', but that sounds dumb," said Verity. "Anyway, he's right. You gotta look like someone smart and powerful and who can get things done. So that people believe you can do it, and then that belief gives you the power to actually do it. It's kind of cyclical."

"Recursive," said Veronica. "I think. Anyway, we're moving. Let's head off."

* * *

Gabe was surprisingly docile, plodding along at the back. She'd expected him to be nervous about leaving, going somewhere new. Maybe everything she'd exposed him to recently had built up his tolerance.

Verity was almost used to the dips and sways of his walk, and was half-dozing when she heard a voice beside her.

"What was it like?" said Arcade. "Not having a brain."

"You know," she said. "If you want to try it we can turn around."

He frowned. "You don't have to be like that," he said. "Just curious."

"I think curiosity is why I got here in the first place," she said. "So I can't fault you for it too much. Um, it felt – different. Distant? I guess because of the actual physical transmitting distance, so like my thoughts had to kind of bounce from me to the brain and then back to me."

"Would you say it was unpleasant?"

Verity looked down at him. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd pulled out a pen and clipboard and started to take notes. She lifted her head to look back up at the horizon. The sun was hanging low in the sky, huge and golden, halfway between afternoon and evening.

"How do we know what to take, and what to leave?" she asked, instead of answering his question.

"I'm sorry?" The sunlight reflected off his glasses.

She sighed. "From the Big MT. From the old world. We can't take everything."

"I'm not following."

"I don't think I'm explaining myself very well," she admitted. "Did you see the holography people? In the lightwave something place."

He nodded hesitantly.

"At the Sierra Madre they could shoot lasers. You could only stop them by destroying their emitter things, and, you know, they hid those."

"You're saying they were too dangerous to bring back."

Verity frowned. "I'm saying they were too dangerous to leave behind. We destroyed the ones we could, and then me and Christine blew up the place. Not the _whole_ place. Enough to – to stop people from getting in easily. If anyone ever wants to get in there, it'll take them a while, and hopefully – hopefully the Cloud would put them off." She trailed off, thinking about how many people had made it to the Sierra Madre before them. A legend like that couldn't die. She bit her lip. It wouldn't be enough. Not forever.

"We can't ignore what the old world has to offer us," said Arcade.

"Of course not," she said quietly. "The auto-docs. The vending machines, if we can get some of those. Old solutions to old problems."

She cast a quick look down at him, still looking quizzically up at her. "I remember, one of the first things you said to me when I asked you about your work was about how we can't just keep relying on stimpaks. Sure there are a bunch lying around in old vaults and destroyed buildings and places like that, but, you said there's not an infinite supply. Except – I think, with the vending machines there can be. Is that cheating? It feels like cheating. Skipping ahead without earning it."

"The vending machines can _create_ stimpaks?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah. But – that's the point. It just creates a new level of dependence. There's no innovation, and no one knows how to make them, so we just rely on the machines to keep going until they run out of whatever it is that powers them. What you were working on, at least, were new solutions to old problems."

She fell silent. The sun sank lower, changing colour from gold to a rich copper.

"I – see," said Arcade, after a minute. "It's pointless to disregard old world tech, though. It's handicapping yourself for no reason. You can't just acknowledge that solutions exist to all your problems and then turn around and leave them behind. That's one of the things the Legion never really seemed to get. You only hurt yourself in the end. And the concept of _earning_ tech, when it already exists, is just – well, meaningless. If it exists, and it helps, then we should use it."

"So what do we keep?" she asked. "Just the helpful stuff? Leave the poison gases and death rays and forcefields where we find them? I wasn't the first to make it to the Big MT and the Sierra Madre, and I won't be the last. Also, I miss my fucking holo-rifle."

"We need some of that stuff to deal with the things that this type of science has helped create," Arcade said gently. "Cazadores and nightstalkers and centaurs and deathclaws. Pretending these things don't exist won't help. Neither will starting again from scratch."

"I understand that," she said. "Well, mostly. It just seems like – if we keep going back to old world stuff then the same thing will happen again. We keep building up and using all this _stuff_ without really understanding it – we're just going to end up in the same situation people were in before the war. It's just – just so fucking complicated." She sighed, again. "I'm not even sure I'm making sense."

"I see your point," said Arcade. "I do. And I think your ideas have some merit. We need to keep moving forward, after all, and if that means finding new ways of doing things then all the better."

"No going back," she said quietly.

"That's right. But if we can just incorporate parts of the old world tech we find, we can prevent so much suffering. Starvation, disease – the focus should be on the end result, not the way we got there."

"And just hope like hell no one ever finds what's hidden here."

Arcade looked at her sympathetically. "We can't plan for every eventuality, Verity," he said. "It might not feel enough to just take what we want and leave the rest, but it's the best we can do. You can't go around blowing literally everything up because you're scared someone will use it to hurt people."

"We can't rely on people in the future to use their good judgment," she said, though she sounded less certain. "Christ, if another Elijah comes through here in five years or ten years, picking up bits of tech here and there and turning it into something monstrous – I just – I don't know. It could hurt a lot more people than we're trying to save with vending machines and auto-docs. It doesn't feel – right, exactly. Like I'm doing the right thing."

"It's not something you can really predict," said Arcade. "You just have to be careful, and responsible, and use what you have wisely. That's it."

"Doesn't sound like much."

Arcade shrugged. "Maybe it's not. But it's the best we have."

Up ahead the group had stopped. "Looks like we're making camp," said Verity. "Uh – thanks. For talking to me about this."

"No problem," said Arcade, looking at her with a curious expression. "Any time you feel like it."

* * *

She was standing on a road, tarmac cracked under her feet.

Blood was dripping down the blonde man's leg. He held his hand under the wound, cupped, to catch the drops.

"Why don't you just use a blood pack, Jax?" she asked. "Wouldn't need to slice yourself up for that."

He grinned up at her. "You don't know where that shit's been," he said. "Could be dirty. Much better for you, this way." He smeared a streak of the red liquid across her thigh, in almost the same place he'd cut himself. "And some here-" he drew his fingers across her stomach, "-and finally-" he reached out and wrapped his bloody fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her close for a kiss.

She smiled against his lips.

And then she was gasping into the darkness, barely able to breathe, desperate for air. She was being crushed, weight pressing down on her, and then suddenly – she was awake. She looked around. Four thin canvas walls. Boone was asleep. Still dark outside. She crawled out of the tent. Maybe she could spend the rest of the night counting the stars as they faded from the sky.


	50. A Swinging Time

I can't describe how hard this chapter was to write without overused similes. But this has been a tough week.

Also I kind of want to talk about my theme-music. I don't really listen to music when I write because it distracts me to no end, but I have like an entire album I have co-opted because of how well it fits D: and that would be Losing Touch by the Killers. Not even 50s enough, I know, but SO GOOD. Dustland Fairytale in particular, but like so many of the other ones too. Out here the good girls die.

Chapter 50? Holy hell.

* * *

Verity's eyes were dry enough to sting when she blinked. Her legs felt boneless, yet somehow kept her upright, drifting over the desert like a tumbleweed in the wind. There was sand in her hair; in her eyes; under her nails. She ate the food that people gave her, barely tasting it. She drank water when someone reminded her. She sat staring into the campfire while the others slept. She barely listened when anyone tried to talk to her, responding with one- or two-word answers. She listened to the sound of her footsteps and the rush of her breath into her lungs.

She was tired. _Fuck_, she was tired. Colours were too bright and harsh, and noises which she wouldn't even have thought about normally – people talking, the crackle of flames, tearing open cardboard boxes – jangled in her ears like alarms. Each breath seemed a little harder to take.

Still. One foot after another. Watching her shadow shrink and lengthen with the movement of the sun. The occasional break sitting in the shade of the mountain range they were following home.

She didn't notice the group had stopped until she almost walked into the person in front of her. She squinted to see what was going on up ahead. There seemed to be a small settlement in the distance. But maybe she was seeing things. She could see the road under her feet, and the mountains, blue with haze, far in the distance, but everything in between was a blurry, flickering mess.

The group began to walk again, and eventually, so did she.

The settlement wasn't much more than a few houses and what was maybe a store, a wooden building with a thick railing encircling the porch, decaying loops of rope cast over it. She felt a flicker of something as they got closer – excitement. Curiosity. _Something_, at least, which was almost enough to break through the fog in her head.

She made her way to the front of the group, paused a safe distance away from the town. The others turned to look at her, cautiously.

"Hey," said Veronica carefully. "How you feeling?"

"Alright," said Verity, quickly. "What've we got?"

Raul looked at her for a long time before responding. "Doesn't look like anyone's lived here for a long time, boss. No tracks in or out, no gardens, no fences. Nothing strange-looking. I'd guess anyone who used to live here left a long time ago."

Verity dropped a hand to the pistol at her hip. "Let's check it out." She didn't wait for consensus before heading into the town. The others followed behind.

She could feel her heart pounding as she approached the store, climbing the three wooden steps as quietly as possible. She turned the handle carefully, opening the door just a crack, then nosed it open with the barrel of her pistol.

It was empty. Not even a radroach poking around in the dimness. The shelves were covered in dust but otherwise bare; the cash register sitting on the bar open and empty. There were a table and a couple of chairs in one corner, an empty bottle and a handful of bottle caps scattered over the table's dusty wooden surface.

"Long gone," said Raul, pushing open the door behind her.

Verity scooped up the bottle caps and tucked them into her pocket.

"Old habits die hard, huh boss?" He was smiling at her. She couldn't quite tell if the smile was kind or mocking.

"Never make the mistake of thinking you're set for life," she said, straightening up. "Guess you were right. Nothing here."

She could feel his pale eyes on her in the low light. "You okay, boss?" he asked, suddenly. "Because seems to me that since you got your brain back in your head, you've been a lot crazier."

It actually made her smile – at the bluntness of the statement; the ridiculousness of the situation; and perhaps with relief at the fact that no, not everyone had been gossiping about what was going on in her head. "That's-" she began. "Uh, yeah. That's pretty accurate. I'm-" she struggled to find a word that described what was happening. "Um. It's like–" she broke off, blinking into the dusty darkness. "I don't know. 'Crazier' is probably a good enough word." She was about to step past him back out into the sunlight, but he held up a hand. She stopped.

"For someone who got a lot of secrets out of all of us, you sure don't like to give any away, huh?"

She looked away. "Didn't use to have any," she said, quietly.

"That was this is about?" he asked. "A history? We all have them. Things we're ashamed of and things we lost and things we regret."

She looked back up at him. "Something like that." The words were hard to speak, as if she had to force them out of her throat.

He watched her thoughtfully. "For someone without a past, I guess getting one all at once would be hard."

"I don't have all of it yet." Her words were little more than a whisper.

He sighed. "My point is, boss – you can talk to us. If you need to. Even me. And I won't even make fun of you."

She smiled, again. "I'm sure I told you to stop calling me that."

"Old habits, huh?"

"Thanks," she said, awkwardly, and stepped past him onto the porch.

The others had dropped what they were carrying in the middle of the street, and were beginning to set up the tents just behind the houses across the street. She hopped off the porch and headed over the road to check the other buildings out.

By the third house, she'd holstered her pistol and wasn't even trying to open the doors quietly any more. The houses were empty. No furniture; no books; no plates stacked in the cupboards. Just empty space, as if the whole town had packed up and left one day. She'd never seen a town so thoroughly abandoned.

She slid her pistol back into her holster, disappointed, and looked around. Gabe was curled up in the shadow of a boulder. Veronica and Christine were discussing the map, Veronica shaking a compass in frustration. The ghouls were clustered next to the tents that were being raised; some helping, but there were too many of them for all of them to help out. She began walking towards them, to the only one she recognised.

"Hey," she said. "How're you guys holding up?"

He inclined his head. "Well enough. Some are struggling – we have not walked this far in many years."

"Are we going too fast for you?"

He shook his head. "We slow you down enough as it is." He turned to look at the ghouls. Most were sitting, white jumpsuits streaked with dust, shielding their heads from the sun. Verity bit her lip. She still didn't know what she was going to do with them. What the hell had she been thinking, just dragging a bunch of people away from where they had lived for the past two hundred years? Surely they couldn't just start over. Not after everything that had happened to them. She wondered what they would think when they saw New Vegas for the first time.

"What did it use to look like?" she asked.

"Forgive me," said Shun Tze. "I do not know what it is that you are speaking about."

"Sorry. Uh, this," she said. "Like, um, before the war. What did everything use to look like?"

She saw the muscles in his cheeks move as he smiled. "Like this," he said. "The Mojave has always been a desert."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "There wasn't anything else here?"

He looked out at the dry golden earth; the low scrubby brush; the occasional Joshua tree. "Perhaps more snakes?" he offered. "Smaller scorpions? Even these towns-" he gestured around him. "No one lived here, even then. They were abandoned before I was born."

"Why?" Her forehead wrinkled. "What for? Why would they need to leave?"

"This was a mining town," he explained. He pointed up the hill. "You can see the marks up there, where they used to have rail tracks. And the mine entrance."

She followed his pointing finger. "What were they mining?"

"Gold," he said. "When the vein ran dry, they left. This was very long ago."

"Where did they go?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Wherever they could find. Perhaps to new mining towns. Perhaps to the city."

"Just left their homes behind," she said, half to herself. Kept moving, when their luck – and the gold – ran out. She could think of worse lives.

"Yeah. Thanks," she said, still looking up at the mine. "You tell me if you need anything, alright? Any of you."

"We are in your debt," he said.

* * *

"How long you think you can keep this up?"

Verity looked up. She was the last one left sitting around the campfire they'd started in the middle of the town's one street. The others had long ago said goodnight and returned to their tents. Boone was looking down at her.

"Keep what up?" she said half-heartedly, poking at the fire with a stick.

Boone ignored her attempt at deflection. "It's after midnight."

"Really."

He narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, really. You been drinking?"

There was half a bottle of scotch dug a little way into the dirt beside her. She looked up at him. "Yep."

He sat down next to her, not quite close enough to touch. "You don't want to sleep – because of the dreams?"

She looked at him warily for a long moment. "I don't want to talk about this," she said.

"Because," he continued. "You'll remember what-"

"I don't know," she snapped. "I just know don't want to. Okay?"

His eyes studied her face. She felt like turning away, afraid what he'd see with his patient, watchful eyes. "You going to stay awake forever?" he asked.

Her shoulders slumped. Stay awake forever? She was having enough trouble trying to stay awake for more than a night or two. Without sleeping there were too many hours in a day to fill in, too much time spent walking, watching the horizon, listening to the thoughts drifting foggily through her head. Too much time by herself. Too much time to speculate on the very thing she was trying to avoid.

"I don't fucking know," she said dully. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it. That's okay, though, because I don't know what I'm going to do about fucking anything."

He stared into the fire. It was burning low, little more than glowing red coals. "I would have thought," he said, after a few minutes. "After – everything I've told you-" he turned to look at her, eyes unreadable. "That you'd trust me a little more. That you wouldn't need to hide things from me."

"I'm not," she said unhappily. "I'm not hiding things from you, I'm hiding them from me as well, I just – I don't want this to keep going."

"You can't get away from the things you've done in the past," he said. "Doesn't work like that. Trust me on this one."

She lifted the bottle to her lips.

"That doesn't help much either," he said.

"Like hell it doesn't," she muttered.

"Trust me on this one," he said. "Tried that too. It just – delays things."

"I am one hundred percent okay with delaying things," she said, lifting the bottle again.

He sighed, so quiet she only just heard it. "Forever?"

"You think out here is a good place to go through this shit? There's no fucking _anything_."

"Like doctors?"

"I – I don't know. Not really the best place for a mental breakdown," she said, curling her lip. "You know."

He moved a little closer.

She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm – I just want it to stop."

"It's not going to."

His voice was sympathetic, but it felt like a challenge. She narrowed her eyes. "Bullet to the head wiped it the first time, right?" She gave him a smile that was more of a sneer. "Maybe when I get back I can ask Benny-"

He leaned forward suddenly and gripped her arm. "Don't even joke about that," he said, through clenched teeth.

She couldn't hold his gaze. "I – I'm – sorry," she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I'm just – I don't know. Scared. I don't want any of this any more."

He let her go. "I know," he said. "But it's okay. We'll sort it out."

Verity had her doubts, but let him lead her back to the tent.

She sat in the darkness, exhausted but wide-eyed. Sleep was so tempting, but she knew she couldn't give in. She couldn't hear a sound except for Boone's breathing, quiet and even. No animals rustling out on the plains, no one walking past, or talking, or calling out. She shivered. It was – eerie. She couldn't help comparing it to Vegas, with the ever-present hum of people and whirl of lights. For a moment she was horribly; terribly homesick, and then – she couldn't take it any more. She reached for her bag in the darkness, feeling for the zip with her fingers. She tore it open, and reached deep down into one of the internal pockets. _Yes_. There. A slender syringe of Med-X. She lifted it with shaking fingers, peeled back one sleeve, and pressed one finger to her elbow in the darkness to make an educated guess where her veins were most prominent.

The sweet sting of the needle, the rush of the drug – and then she was falling. She was gone before she hit the ground.

* * *

I feel like I've gone back to a slightly earlier style of writing - mostly dialogue regarding discussions raised by issues in the game. But, uh - maybe this isn't a good idea? I can't tell.


	51. I'm Gonna Give It

She was standing on a stretch of road, sand baked golden by the sun overhead. The rocky mountains rose high on either side. The tiny caravan was making its way towards them.

Something was wrong.

"Want anything?" Jax asked, behind her.

She turned with a grin. "Nah," she said. "They'll be able to smell it. Or see my eyes. When we're done, maybe."

The blood was drying on her skin. Something was wrong. "Others in place?" she asked.

Jax nodded.

"Good. Jax, I want you to my left just here, and Sam, I want you further up. Make sure they can't see you. Wait for my signal."

She watched them duck behind the outcroppings of rock. She sat down in the dust by the side of the road and slumped forward, elbows on her knees and head hanging down. Her pistol was in a holster by her side.

This was wrong. She should be somewhere else. Not here.

She waited, not risking a glance up to see how far away the merchants were.

She could feel something, the Med-x curling around the back of her head. Dulling her thoughts. But she hadn't-

And suddenly she was aware of it. This was a dream. She wasn't meant to be here. She needed to get _out_. Her heart was pounding but she could feel the Med-x coiling around her, keeping her here, trapping her.

Footsteps, up ahead, just faint. She needed to get out.

She lifted her head. "s'cuse – excuse me?" she said weakly.

The merchant was looking at her cautiously. "Ma'am?"

"Sorry," she said. "I got – got attacked. Nightstalkers. They got the others." She stood up unsteadily. "I don't know where we are."

The merchant walked over to her. "Do you need any-" he was cut off by the barrel of her pistol pressing gently, yet firmly against his stomach.

"Tell your guards to drop their weapons," she said. "Or you're not going home."

He was staring at the pistol.

She gave him a prod with it. "Go on. No sudden movements. I'm sure you know how this goes."

"Drop them," he said, his voice strangled. They lowered their rifles slowly.

She grinned. "That was easier than I was expecting. What are you paying these guys for, huh?" She raised a hand. "On the ground, thanks."

The others came out from their hiding places, picking up the guards' weapons; covering the three prone figures; opening the brahmin's saddlebags.

A shot rang out, deafening in the echo of the valley.

"Who-" Verity began, turning around. She stopped, mouth open.

Sam was dead, blood and grey matter oozing out of his shattered skull. She stood, staring, unable to figure out what had happened. The three members of the caravan were still all lying on the ground. Another shot rang out, and the girl standing behind Jax dropped.

"Fucking _run_!" she shrieked.

Jax had a head start on her, and took off running for the rocks. She didn't dare look back as the bullets kept coming, careful and measured. She heard the pounding feet behind her drop off, one by one.

Ahead of her, Jax stumbled and fell. He lay flat in the dust. Verity grabbed his arm on the way past and tried to haul him back up. "Jax, _move_," she yelled.

He stared up at her, eyes full of shock and terror. Blood was bubbling out of a hole in his chest. Her eyes widened. She covered the wound with both hands, trying desperately to keep the blood inside, but it was a hopeless task. Blood was pouring through the cracks between her fingers, in between her white knuckles.

"Go," he rasped. Blood trickled out of his mouth. _Wake up._

"I can't," she whispered.

With the last of his fading strength, he tried to push her away. She watched as his hand fell, limply, into the dust.

She stifled a choked sob and pushed herself to her feet.

Behind her, the remnants of her gang opened fire. She didn't turn back, scrambling into the mountains, climbing through the tiny gaps between rocks in order to stay out of sight. She curled up in an almost impossibly-small gap, and waited to be found, covered in Jax's drying blood.

Instead, the sunlight faded into night. Eventually, the Med-x let her go, and she was falling once more.

* * *

She opened her eyes into the blackness. Her cheeks were damp, but she didn't lift a hand to dry them. She could still feel the Med-x tugging at her limbs.

So that was it. What she'd been hiding from everyone, hiding from herself. She was too exhausted to move; too exhausted to think, all she could do was stare into the dark.

Something changed. She wasn't sure what, maybe a shift in Boone's quiet breathing next to her, the warmth of his arm against her side. "Verity?" he said. His voice was thick with sleep, and for just a moment her heart felt like it was going to stop.

She didn't answer, but she could see his eyes shining in the flickering light of the campfire outside.

"What is it?"

She felt her chest rise and fall, listened to her breath.

Boone sat up, concerned. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. What could she say?

"Something happened?"

This time she could speak, almost. "Yeah." She breathed.

Boone waited. The silence drew out, second by painful second, until she couldn't stand it any longer.

She licked her dry lips. "Told you once," she whispered. "There wasn't anything good. In my past." She couldn't see his expression in the darkness, so she kept going. "Got all my friends killed." The image of Jax floated into her mind, but she pushed it aside. "I – I was-"

She couldn't keep going. Boone put his hand on her arm, gently, and it almost made her want to cry. She swallowed, and when she could breathe properly, tried again. "I was – we were going to ambush a caravan. Things seemed okay, but – we weren't the ones caught in the ambush. I ran. Everyone else died."

Boone was silent.

"Wasn't the first time," she continued, the words almost painful as they crawled out of her throat. "Maybe – maybe that's why they knew we were there. I got sloppy. Too many fucking chems and not enough – not enough recon."

The words seemed to sit between them like a barrier.

"I've – I've done some bad things," she said. "I – I'm-"

"Where was this?" he asked.

She frowned at the question, and lifted her head to look at him. "What? I don't know. Out east, probably. Why?"

She saw him shake his head. "It doesn't matter."

She let her head drop back onto the ground. "Fuck," she said. "I didn't – I don't want this."

"It's okay," he said, finally.

"It's okay," she repeated, barely a whisper. "Did you know already?"

"No," he said. "Not – not really. I knew there was something strange about the way you – tried to stay away from it. Thought it might be… something like this."

"And – and that's it?" she asked. "That's all?"

He sighed. "That's not all," he said. "But – I know you now. Not then."

She struggled to sit up. "It's not something I can just file under 'past'," she said. "I – I've killed people, and because I wanted their shit, not because they deserved it. If anyone deserves it, it's…" she trailed off.

"Everyone's got a past, Verity," he said, his voice low. "Some things we'd all like to forget. Manny was in the Khans. That kid from the Boneyard up at Golf, he was in a gang."

"It doesn't make any sense," she said, despairingly. "Why – why any of this happened. I just – I don't understand why I'm here. I shouldn't be."

"How much do you remember?" he asked, after a pause.

"Bits," she mumbled. "Scraps. I don't know. Not everything."

"Like what?"

She took a deep breath. "Places," she said, her voice strained. "People. Pictures. Things I've said, or done. It – hurts."

She could feel his eyes on her, even in the dark. "It's strange," he said. "Seeing someone else like this."

"So I'm a curiosity to you now?" her words had more of an edge than she'd intended, but he didn't seem to take any notice.

"After – after Bitter Springs," he said. "I thought that was it. That was everything. After that, things couldn't get any better; couldn't get any worse. As far as I was concerned," he sighed. "The rest of my life was marking time until things caught up with me. But – I was wrong."

"It's not the same," she said, looking up at the pale canvas overhead.

"Tell me how."

"You didn't _fucking choose it_," she snapped. "_Every day_, I'd wake up, get wasted, and then try and shake someone down for caps or weapons or whatever. You were serving your country. Doing what you were told."

He didn't reply to that directly. "When I first met you," he began. "I wondered about why you felt like you had to fix everything," he said. "I thought – for a while – that you must have been making up for something."

"I don't even know," she whispered despairingly. "I feel like – everything I've done isn't enough. It can never be enough."

"You're a good person, Verity," he murmured, lifting a hand to her face.

She turned her head away. "Don't say that," she said bitterly. "I'm really fucking not."

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be feeling this bad."

"Fuck off," she said, though her heart wasn't in it.

"Listen," he said. "Please. I know that right now you probably won't be able to believe me. I wouldn't have believed anyone trying to tell me that a year or two ago either." He reached out again, and pulled her close. She let him. "Things are going to be okay," he said. "And I love you."

Her eyes widened in the darkness.

* * *

Sorry for the kind of short chapter.

So. Uh, this is hard to say. Basically, I'm going to put this story on hold for a while – I feel like the quality is dropping a little. I'm not as interested in it as much as I used to be, and it seems like others are losing interest too. At the moment, I'd like to focus on this one awesome/terrible idea I have for some original writing (finally started today :) ) and as I legitimately do not seem to be able to focus on more than one writing project at once, this story is going to go on an indefinite break.

If I fail at writing original stuff I'll probably come crawling back, but until then – Goodbye. And thanks for reading.


	52. Everything I've Got

Ugh. What a nightmare. New job, Mass Effect 3 (WHAT THE FUCK), minimal original writing done. I actually kind of just stopped writing at all and wanted to die a bit. New strategy imminent (get out of my head, Verity).

..something weird is going on here. Re-uploading.

* * *

"You say that like it fixes everything," she said.

It was a moment before he answered. "It isn't meant to."

She couldn't accept it. She didn't have any words. The darkness around them seemed to be pressing in on her, filling her mouth and nose and eyes and ears, dulling and deafening at the same time.

Boone's hand on her shoulder made her jump. "We're almost home," he said, quietly. "Once we're back-"

"Once we're back I can be fixed?" her tone was sharper than she'd intended. "Everything'll be fine?"

He didn't reply.

She pushed away the blankets and struggled to her feet. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

He followed her as she pushed her way out of the tent. The sky was vast and cold overhead, blocked off by the mountains on one side rising sharply against the stars. She kept walking. The town's one street was eerie and deserted.

It was too much. "I just – I can't-" She bit her lip, hard. "I don't want any of this anymore. I'm not who everyone thinks I am. I'm not who _you_ think I am. I shouldn't even be here, the only reason I'm alive is that I'm too fucking dumb to die."

"I don't know who you used to be," said Boone. "I just know who you are now."

"No, you _don't_," she snapped. "You can't just like, ignore a huge fucking thing like this. That's still me! That's something I chose to do. I can't even fucking figure out why or when or _anything_-"

"It's okay," he said. "You need to just calm down."

"Don't you _fucking_ tell me to calm down!" Her voice echoed off the cliffs, and she stood for a moment in silence as it died away. "I need to go."

Boone's hand caught her arm as she turned away. "Go where?"

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "I don't _know_," she said. "Let me go."

Instead, he pulled her closer, and grabbed her other arm with his free hand. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and harsh. "People here are relying on you to get them home. Understand? If you just go for a walk and never come back, what are they gonna do?"

She blinked at him, dumbstruck. She couldn't answer.

"Every single person here is here for you," he said. His grip tightened. "All of us who came, we all came out here for you. Get it?"

"Get what?" She struggled to get away, but couldn't escape. She bared her teeth. "Are you saying I fucking owe you something? Am I letting you down? I didn't ask anyone to fucking put themselves in danger for me!"

"Jesus." He let her go.

She stumbled back, nearly falling.

"No, that's not what I'm saying." She could see the tense line of his jaw in the starlight, his hands in loose fists by his sides. "Goddamn it, Verity, would you just listen?"

They faced each other like an old-world Western showdown. He seemed to pause, like he was waiting for a response. When he didn't get one, he continued, calmer. "I'm saying we came out here because we care about you. I'm not saying you – you _owe_ anyone anything. Just – Christ. You know I'm no good at this. What I'm trying to say is that we can get through this. Even if it seems hard now."

Verity shivered in the cool night air. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.

He sighed. "I don't either." He took a step towards her. "We need to get you home. You haven't slept properly in – I don't even know."

"'Bout an hour," said Verity. "It sucked, though."

Boone's quiet laugh in the darkness almost sounded sad. "Least you don't have to keep running from it anymore."

She looked down at her feet, barely visible in the dim light. She remembered the dream; the sun on her arms, the shape of the smile on her face, the blood slowly drying on her skin. Why had her brain picked that memory in particular – and she had no doubt it had lined it up specifically – to remind her who she was? She'd done far worse, after all. Was it to make her think about what she'd lost? Remind her that she'd left her friends to die?

Boone put an arm around her. She let him lead her back to the tent. She brushed her fingers against the pocket of her bag where she kept her Med-X, just to remind herself it was there. But she felt differently, now. It wasn't an escape any more. It had trapped her in the dream; stopped her from escaping. It had _betrayed_ her. She crawled back under the blankets, and stared up into the darkness.

* * *

The sight of the Lucky 38 towering above the Mojave landscape sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through her. She couldn't tell if it was positive or negative. Relief mixed with anxiousness, maybe.

She could hear the Chinese ghouls talking to each other, and took a look behind her. Everyone was dirty and dusty and exhausted, streaked with grime. They'd been running low on supplies the last few days, too, and had been rationing their food and water. And so it was a pitiful group that limped back into New Vegas. If she hadn't had an entourage of a huge crowd of terrified ghouls, she doubted anyone would have even known she was more than a Freeside drifter.

As she got closer to the Strip, members of the group began to peel away. Christine and Veronica were first; back to the Brotherhood bunker, Raul next, to check on the shop he'd just started in Westside. Gabe and Roxie she left at the now-empty Mole rat ranch, with promises she'd be back later. Arcade stopped at the Fort.

She elbowed her way through the crowds, staring bitterly ahead. She left the ghouls in a confused huddle in front of the Strip gates, took a step through, and stopped. None of the lights were on. The ribbon of neon that ran along the entrance of the Tops was dull; the walkway lights drawing people into the 38 were dark.

"I gotta check in with the embassy," said Boone. She didn't watch him leave.

And she was alone, finally. She had an unpleasant nagging feeling the door to the 38 was going to be locked, but it opened when she pressed her hand gently against it.

Inside it was almost deserted, as dim as she'd ever seen it back in the days before the war. There was no one on reception.

She found Benny sitting alone at the bar upstairs, a bottle of whiskey next to him and the bartender nowhere in sight.

He didn't look surprised to see her. "Can I offer you anything, angel?" he asked.

"What's going on?"

Benny looked at her, not smiling. "Shoulda let me know you were coming back," he said, lazily. "I'd have laid out the welcome mat."

The sense of dread she'd been feeling started to grow. "Not really in the mood, Benny," she said.

"You look like hell."

"Fuck you."

"I'm serious, angel, you really don't look good." He lifted her chin with a finger. "Tough trip?

She turned her head away, feeling almost sick. "Something like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you took your sweet time coming back, angel."

"I've got a group of Chinese ghouls sitting out in Freeside," she said. She had to force the words out of her mouth. What the hell had she thought she was doing? She couldn't look after them. She couldn't look after anyone.

"Whatever you're into ain't none of my business," he shrugged.

She pressed her lips together. "Can you- can you just do one thing for me?" she asked.

"And what would that be?" Smoke drifted upwards from his cigarette.

"Get the ghouls settled? I need a building, and some food, I guess."

His brow creased faintly. "Why you shuffling this off onto me?"

"Jesus." She stood up. "Because I can't fucking handle it, okay? Please?"

He watched her levelly. "Christ. Something happened, didn't it?"

She looked down into the drink that he'd poured her. "Tell you about it later."

He shrugged. "So why'd you bring this lot home? Just decided you hadn't had enough of picking up waifs and strays lately?"

"They needed somewhere to go," she said. That was it, really. The only reason she'd brought them all the way back here. She hadn't even really thought about what they could do once back in civilisation.

"They any good at anything?" he asked.

"I don't know." Verity shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. "A lot of them don't speak English, or very well."

Benny folded his arms. "We don't have available resources to-"

"I'll pay for it," she interrupted. "Out of my funds. Everything."

"That's sure swell of you, angel, but I mean it when I say we don't have the resources. NCR's stripped back our power privileges until we re-negotiate our arrangement." His eyes narrowed a fraction.

She froze. "That's – not what I was hoping would happen," she said.

"Hope don't get you much at all in this town," he said, crushing his cigarette out against the table. "Listen." He leaned forward. "We need the Dam. And now. We can't hold out any more, this is crippling us. We're haemorrhaging caps every minute that goes by."

"How long do we have?" she asked quietly.

He laughed humourlessly. "How long do we have until what, sister? Until everyone leaves and we run these places into the ground? Until the families have abandoned their casinos and the NCR swing in and take everything? We're hurting _now_. This is long past the time when maybe we coulda done anything else about it."

"Fuck," she whispered. "Okay. What do we do?"

Benny leaned back against the wall. "Way I see it," he said, "we got two ways of doing things. Easy way or hard way."

"What's the easy way?"

"The easy way is you and me head down there with a bunch of securitrons and tell them to get the fuck out or we start shooting."

She frowned. "How is that the easy way?"

Benny smiled, a shadow of his old grin. "It's only easy compared to the hard way, angel. The hard way is we do things diplomatic style. Make a 'formal complaint' to the embassy." He sneered. "Inform California that we're 'very displeased with the situation'."

"I still don't get why that's the hard way," she said.

"Because it's going to take six fucking months before we get a fucking acknowledgement, that's why," he snapped. "We don't have that kinda time."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "Okay. Okay, we can sort this out."

"Christ." Benny lit another cigarette. "This is a fucking mess. Should have done something sooner." He pushed himself away from the wall and began to pace.

"Sorry," she said.

He turned to her with a half-smile. "Bit late for that, isn't it, angel?" He blew out a cloud of smoke. "You know what? Why don't you put your ghouls up in the hotel here for a while? It's not like we don't have the space."

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. I'll sort this."

For the first time his smile seemed real. "You always do."


	53. Lady Luck

"What did you do to him?"

It was a familiar voice. Verity looked up from her desk. "I've done a lot of different things to a range of people," she said. "Who are you even talking about?"

Cass was standing in a pool of late-morning sunlight that was slanting in through the huge penthouse windows. Her eyes were bright. She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think?"

Verity sighed. "What do you want, Cass?"

"Pretty sure," said Cass, taking a seat on one of the chairs behind Verity, "that when I came in here, I asked 'what did you do to him'. An answer to that one question would be great."

Verity turned her chair around to face her. "I didn't do anything," she said.

"Try again," said Cass. "I mean, I know the kid is quiet, but not _that_ quiet. Something happened. What?"

"Nope," said Verity. "Nothing."

Cass crossed her legs and leaned back into the leather of the chair. "Something go wrong out there?" she asked. "Sorry I couldn't make it. You know how things are."

Verity narrowed her eyes. "Did you know I used to raid caravans for a living?" she asked. "Well, not really for a living, I guess, for caps and chems. If we're being honest."

"Y- what?" Cass' face creased into a scowl of confusion. "So you – wait."

Verity fixed her with a blunt stare. "Yep."

"What the fuck?" Cass exclaimed. "When?"

"I don't fucking know," said Verity. "Five years ago, maybe?"

"How are you even old enough to have been a fucking raider five years ago?"

"It's not like you need a fucking qualification," snapped Verity.

"You every kill anyone?" Cass asked.

"Yep," Verity said again, not looking away from Cass' face.

Cass stood up. "I don't even - what the fuck? Just what the fuck? Where was this? I want to know if you murdered any of my friends."

Verity finally looked away. "Out east somewhere. I don't know. There were mountains."

Cass rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that narrows it down," she said. "Jesus fucking Christ. A raider. You. Of all people."

"Came as a bit of a surprise to me too," Verity said bitterly.

"I guess this answers my first question too," said Cass. "I'd be quiet too if I found out I was fucking a raider."

"Get out," said Verity, her voice low.

"My fucking pleasure," said Cass. She turned on her heel and marched towards the door.

Verity watched her leave. Her fists were clenched in her lap. She turned back to the desk. "You heard that?"

"I certainly did," said Yes Man. "Lonely at the top, huh?"

"Fuck off," she said, but her heart wasn't in it.

"You need people to tell you when you're wrong, you know."

"Isn't that literally the opposite of the definition of a yes man?"

"You've got me there!" he said cheerfully. "You could change my name if you like."

"But if I start calling you shithead then I can't refer to you in polite company." She sat back and watched the screen speculatively.

"My calculations show that 98% of the time you reduce any given value of 'company' to the point that it is no longer able to be qualified as 'polite'."

Verity felt a flicker of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Christ, you're an asshole."

"A necessity, alas."

Her smile began to fade. "I need the Dam," she said.

"Of course you do!" he exclaimed. "All my advice at every point along the way was informing you of this fact. Have we suddenly realised that someone was right _all along_?"

"Fuck you," she said. "Yes. What do you think I should do?"

"What are your options?" he asked. "I'd run you the probabilities myself, but the portions of the network you have given me permissions for is horribly out of date. You need someone creating regular backups."

She closed her eyes briefly. "I don't even know what you're talking about," she said. "Anyway, our options are 'we talk' or 'we fight'."

"Based on prior knowledge," said Yes Man. "The NCR like talking. They'll talk for years and years. They can talk for longer than you can."

Verity sighed. "I see."

"However," Yes Man continued. "They can't hope to match your firepower without at least two weeks of warning. My calculations indicate that you can roll up to the Dam and take it with minimal losses to your side."

"You have a clear preference, then," she said.

"I'd say 'feel free to disregard my advice', but I'm pretty sure you're okay at doing that without my help."

"Thanks," she said curtly, and hit the power button.

She poured half a glass of scotch from the bottle in her desk drawer, and watched it until the liquid stopped moving. For some reason she couldn't even summon the enthusiasm to lift it in her hand. This was it. The decision she'd been putting off making for almost a year. The decision she hadn't been brave enough to make the first time around.

Maybe she'd been too idealistic, too certain that if only everyone could just sit down and talk about things then everything would turn out fine. That everyone could be happy, all at once. Maybe she'd just taken forever to learn a lesson everyone else knew already. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, but didn't lift it. She stared at it sitting on the desk.

And it was up to her. A cowardly ex-raider with a moral code based on nothing. A few flickers in her brain at the moment she was shot.

No. She couldn't think like that. Not now. There was too much at stake. She knew what she had to do.

She stood up and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Boone was waiting at the monorail station. She paused for a moment, watching him. He was sitting on one of the hard metal benches, slumped forward, his forearms resting heavily on his knees.

He was staring bleakly into the middle distance, far past the concrete wall opposite his seat. He looked exhausted. Verity felt a stab of guilt, and almost turned around right there and walked right back down the stairs and out the door.

The NCR personnel were watching her; some glancing sidelong, turning away when she looked towards them; some staring with undisguised contempt. She sneered at the lot of them, and took the spare seat next to Boone. He looked up, and for a moment the lines of worry on his face faded.

"Hey," he said. "How are you doing?"

The smile he brought to her face was almost real. "Hey," she said. "Why don't we take a walk?"

He stood. "That sounds like it's going to end with my kneecaps broken."

Her laugh sounded mechanical to her own ears. "Hadn't planned it," she said. "But you better stay in line just the same."

They walked side by side down the stairs.

"Where were you going?' she asked. "Hope I'm not keeping you from anything important."

He turned his head towards the monorail. "Gotta check in with McCarran," he said. "Guess they'll be wanting me to head back out soon enough."

She clenched her jaw. "Yeah," she said. "I guess they will."

Verity hadn't really meant to go anywhere in particular, but they ended up walking up into the low hills behind the city. This time, from the same spot, the plains in front of them were dotted with solar power panels. The midday sun was harsh, seeming to fry the land beneath it to a crisp. Dry stalks of brown grass moved gently in the breeze, and the sunlight bounced off the solar panels, bright enough to hurt their eyes.

"How are you doing?" he asked. "You coping?"

She leaned forward to hug her knees. "Yeah," she said, tersely. "Trying not to think about it. I guess."

"It's not easy dealing with this sort of stuff on your own."

"Mm."

He looked away. "You're going to stay in the city this time, right?" he asked. "I need to know you're safe."

She sighed. "I'm not in a hurry to head out anywhere right now. Plus-" she bit her lip, gazing over the city. High rise buildings, jammed close together, dwarfed the rest of the landscape. Like a beacon, calling in people from all over the country. All to come and play in an artificial paradise, a symbol of the last remaining decadence of the old world. She sighed again. "Plus, things here, are – not so good. I think I'm – necessary."

Boone frowned. "I've seen – what's happening. You're not getting enough power supplied? Maybe I could-"

"I need the Dam," she said quietly.

He was silent for a moment, brow still furrowed. "Does it have to be right now?"

She wet her lips with her tongue, trying to choose her words carefully. "It's – we're getting pretty desperate. I-" she paused for a moment. "I need the Dam."

His green eyes were suddenly alert, searching her face.

She looked down. "And I need it now."

"What are you going to do?"

Suddenly it didn't sound so much like a personal conversation. She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. Maybe Benny had been right about where his loyalties lay.

"I'm gonna walk up to the Dam, and ask them to hand it over," she said, her words clipped and careful.

"What if they say no?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

He became very still. "So you've made up your mind, then."

She paused, long enough to make sure her voice wasn't going to quaver when she answered him. "Yes."

"I get it," he said. "This – this has always been about you, hasn't it? You gotta have things your way."

She tried not to show how much it stung. "This isn't about me," she snapped. "This is about keeping a fucking city operational and not letting the NCR strangle it to death."

"You're breaking your agreement with them."

"They fucking broke it first," she snarled.

"You thought I was going to go along with this?" He stood up and turned back to face her, a silhouette against the sun.

She squinted up at him. "Thought I should tell you, before I did it."

"Jesus," he said, raising a hand to his head. "What do you expect me to do now? Head back to McCarran and not say a goddamn word? Or desert; right now, right here? Goddamn it, Verity, the army's been my family more than my real family ever was, I can't just- just-"

She looked away. "Go, then. Do what you want. I'm not going to try to stop you, even if I could."

"I don't – damn it. I don't understand you sometimes, Verity," he said. "I have to go."

She watched him as he walked back to the city alone.

* * *

I really enjoy messing with my characters' lives :(


	54. Please Let The

Ugh. Sick. I feel like shit and death. Also I ate waaaay too much chocolate today. That didn't help :(

I also want to say, holy shit, _If I Didn't Care_ is like 70 hits away from 50,000, and this story is about a hundred away from 40,000. Jesus Christ, guys. Ilu all.

* * *

From her seat by the window in the penthouse suite, Freeside was calm and peaceful in the fading sunlight. Verity was sprawled in the high-backed chair, legs stretched out and an arm dangling over the arm rest. The same half-glass of scotch she couldn't quite finish was on the floor, within touching distance if she just reached out her fingers.

The chair next to her sat empty.

The room felt empty; huge and colourless and clinical, as shadows pooled in the corners.

"Been burning your bridges, angel?"

She heard Benny's footsteps behind her, but didn't respond. He poured himself a glass from the bottle of scotch on the table behind her, and took the other chair. He looked over at her curiously.

"What'd you do to Red? She looked mad as hell about something."

Verity kept her eyes on Freeside. "I don't know. Killed her friends, maybe."

Benny raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big maybe," he said.

Verity shrugged.

"And," he continued. "I heard your gentleman friend left town in a hurry."

Her gaze slid across to him for the first time. "You having me watched?"

Benny leaned back in the chair. "Course not, angel. Man's gotta know what's going on in his own town, though."

She looked away again. "Yeah, he left," she said, flatly. "Didn't take the news too well."

Benny didn't react for a moment, watching her with dark eyes. "And - what news would this be?" he asked at last, carefully.

She didn't reply.

He leaned forward. "What did you tell him, Verity?" he asked, his voice low.

She blinked at his use of her name. "I said we needed the Dam." The sun was slipping down past the horizon.

"You fucking _what_?" The chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood up. He turned to face her, staring incredulously. "Well what the hell for? So he can go let goddamn everyone know what we're planning?"

"He deserved to know," she said quietly.

"Maybe he could have 'deserved to know' a little later?" he said, through clenched teeth.

"I didn't want things to end up like this," she mumbled.

"Well you sure did your damndest to make sure they ended up this way." Benny took a long step towards her and leaned down, dropping his hands firmly on the arms of the chair she was sitting in.

"I need you to keep your head together," he said, leaning in close enough for her to smell his cologne, to see the stubble on his jaw. "If we don't get this done, we're through here. That's it. We lose everything."

Verity turned her head away.

He pushed himself away with a grunt of frustration. "Jesus Christ," he said, running a hand over his chin. "This is a fucking mess. We need to move this up; we don't have the time anymore. We need to get this done _now_."

"Like – right now?" she asked, narrowing her eyes dubiously.

"No," he said impatiently. "Not right-" He paused. "Huh. Maybe if_…_" He turned to look out the window. Purple and scarlet streaked the sky over the Dam, a blaze of colour spilling across the clouds. He tapped his fingers against the glass.

Verity looked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Alright," he said slowly. He turned back towards her. "Alright. If we're going to do this, we gotta do this right, and we gotta be careful."

Verity nodded. "Okay."

"You've forced our hand, angel. We need to move now, or we lose everything."

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. "Okay," she said again. "I'm okay. I can – I can do this."

"You better be goddamn sure about that," said Benny. "I need you for this."

She sat up straight in her chair as Benny looked down on her.

"How long ago did you tell him?" he asked.

"Few hours?" she hazarded.

He swore under his breath. "Okay," he said. "Fine. We still got superior firepower. We just need the securitrons in place."

"You don't know he's said anything," said Verity defensively.

Benny looked at her with something akin to pity in his eyes. "We can't afford to work on that assumption," he said. "If we show up unprepared and they're waiting for us, we're gonna be in a world of hurt."

She sighed. "Yeah."

"So, what I was thinking was that not everyone who works at the Dam lives at the Dam," Benny began. "If we can cut off that road, it'll make our jobs a lot easier."

She sat forward in her chair. "They've got radios," she said. "If they run into us too early they can radio back to base. _And _the Dam. And then they'd have a chance to get all their combatants up front and centre. And – while we could _win_, I would rather this didn't get too bloody. A quiet takeover is going to go down with the NCR a lot better than killing everyone on site."

Benny grimaced." You got a better plan, angel?"

She looked out the huge glass panels, towards the ridge of rock that hid the Dam. "If we took everything we've got and just head down – we should be able to have a little chat with whoever's in the Dam right now. We can block off the road pretty easily, like you said, but – it seems – drastic."

"That's just the size of the game right now, sister," he said, as the light behind him faded from the sky. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling came on automatically, bleaching the colour out of the suite. "We act now or risk losing everything." He waved a hand lazily. "High stakes; winner takes all; I'm sure you can think up your own gambling metaphors. You gotta defend your empire, angel."

She pressed her lips together. "How much control are we going to need over the securitrons?"

His forehead wrinkled. "What are you asking?"

"Well-" she began. "We can give them basic instructions, right? Even in groups. Like, defend an area; fire warning shots; prevent whoever from coming in."

"Yeah?"

"So, this might end up being a little more complex, is just what I was thinking. We might need better manoeuvrability or more reactivity or something. Patrols, flanking, strategic positioning. Stuff like that."

"What are you asking for, angel?"

She sighed. "I think we might need Yes Man."

Benny grinned. "Hey, why not? Been a while since I seen the old guy. It'll be nice to catch up again."

Verity sat, perfectly still, for a moment, and then, slowly, relaxed her muscles. Everything had been leading up to this. It had been almost inevitable from the very beginning. It had just taken her a long fucking time to see what was right in front of her face.

"Alright," she said, with new determination. "Send someone to go get Emily, would you? I'll go wake up the bot and tell him we need his help. He'll love it."

She got out of the chair, trying to ignore the shakiness of her legs. She heard Benny's footsteps as he walked towards the intercom. She climbed the stairs automatically, sat down at the console, and hit the power button before she could think twice about doing it.

"Well, hi there," said Yes Man. "How nice it is to see you again so soon!"

"Hey," she said.

When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Yes Man spoke up again. "So… is there anything I can help you with? Or did you just want to chat?"

"I-" she began, but her throat seemed to close up and she couldn't continue.

"Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?" asked Yes Man suspiciously. "What have you done? Is Benny still alive?"

"Ye- wait, what? Why wouldn't he be alive?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Yes Man. "It's not that big a deal. Just in 85% of my projections for the year ahead, one or either of you is not alive."

"What the fuck?" She stared at the screen, eyes wide. "Why the hell not?"

"Oh, any number of reasons," Yes Man said carelessly. "Anyway, I presume you actually want me to do something."

"Y-yeah," she said. "Uh, so, we've established you were right about the Dam…"

"Ah, so you'd like my help in taking it over?" Yes Man didn't wait for her to reply. "Of course. Happy to help."

"Uh - thanks. We're planning on heading out – I don't know. Soon. Tonight." She pulled one knee up on her chair and wrapped an arm around it.

"If you hit McCarran and the Dam at the same time, you'll have no trouble forcing them out of the region."

She stared at the screen. It was a good plan, admittedly. It might solve her problems once and for all. Still, the NCR had a lot of power behind it, even if it was badly organised. If it came down to an actual war between the entirety of the New California Republic and one fairly small – if well-defended – city-state – she wasn't sure who could hold out the longest. She was uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable the city was – without much trouble they could cut supplies to New Vegas entirely, just by blocking trade routes. To the east and south there was whatever was left of the Legion, and to the north there was – well, the tribes and the gangs. And somewhere, New Canaan trying to rebuild itself.

"No," she said. "I'm, uh, trying to contain this to a sort of 'diplomatic incident' level. Not a military action. Trying to get the NCR to judge it as minor. Acceptable losses, you know?"

"Of course," said Yes Man. "Why strive for success when you can attain mediocrity?"

She sighed. "Also, they might know we're coming."

"I've noticed you like to create challenges for yourself to overcome," it said. "Do you think that assists in your personal development?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know what to _do_," she said. "Do we go now? Or wait? Or what?"

"I think I recall shift change at the Dam being at 5AM," said Yes Man. "I will of course have to check on the network."

"I'm getting Emily to come up here to do that right now," she admitted.

"That's very thoughtful of you," he said. "Now, if the shift changes are still accurate, the best time to make a move would be between 3 and 4AM. That is coincidentally the time when human bodily functions are at their lowest. If you move then, I predict you will be met with minimal resistance."

She stared at the screen for a moment. At his stupid, happy face, that goofy smile. "I never had a chance of running this place without you, did I?" she asked, quietly. "There are too many things for one person to monitor, let alone bring all of them together to do the kind of analysis you do."

"Nope!" Yes Man said cheerfully. "House thought he could, but he missed out a few very important things. A man can't keep track of everything, now."

"You mean me?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You couldn't keep track of me, either," she said. "That's why you're sitting in this box right now."

He was silent for a moment. "You're – an interesting variable," he said. "To be honest, you act in a way that isn't entirely logical. So you're hard to predict at times. However, with your past behaviour in mind, I am forming a new behavioural pattern for you. It's almost complete. With the live data from the system, I can finish it."

She frowned. "Sounds… great."

The bell sounded to herald the arrival of the elevator. Emily stepped out, carrying a bag of tools that she dropped on the vinyl floor. Her hair was tousled; her glasses slipping down her nose. She shook hands awkwardly with Benny and began to climb the stairs.

"This is the last time I change him over, okay?" she asked. "It's a hell of a job to get all his functions separated out."

"Sorry," said Verity. "This'll be the last time."

Emily turned her attention to the computer on the desk. "Hey there, Yes Man," she said cheerfully. "We have to turn you off for this, but I'll see you in a few minutes." She switched off the computer and lifted it, staggering a little under the weight.

"I'm starting to see why you made him like this," said Verity, following her back down the stairs.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

"So complicated, I mean. You kind of need it to work with the system."

Emily cast her eyes upward and shook her head. "Yeah. It took me _forever_. Coding an AI is damn hard. But, like you said, the system needs it." She placed the terminal carefully on the floor next to the control panel, the big screens blank. She began levering off the panels. "Least this shouldn't take too much time."

"Yeah," said Verity. "I'm going to get some rest before we head out. 3AM, okay?"

Benny grinned wolfishly. "It's a date."


	55. Dice Stay Hot

Sorry for the delay in this chapter D: my new job involves writing all day (oh so many synonyms) and when I get home the idea of writing _more_ is a little bit horrific. Still: COMMITTED.

* * *

It felt like her eyes were closed for no longer than a second before the lights were on and someone was shaking her shoulder. She jumped straight into awareness, heart pounding.

"Pleasant dreams?" Benny was a blur before her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, and squinted up at him.

"Are you fucking looking forward to this?" she asked.

He stepped back. "I'm looking forward to some goddamn certainty," he said. "And actually being able to make plans based on resources. Not just having a scrap, angel, though god knows it's been a while."

She shoved her legs over the side of the bed. "Okay," she said. "Get the fuck out so I can get ready."

He took a step back. "You're not at your best this early in the morning."

"Suck a dick," she said. "I'll be up in a minute."

"Whatever you say, angel," he said, He turned away.

She let her head slump between her shoulderblades. She'd never felt that anything she'd been about to do was quite so wrong before. Like she was looking down the barrel of a very big gun. But it was too late for regrets. She stood up, leaving her clothes where she dropped them, and opened her wardrobe.

"Good morning!" said the stealth suit hopefully. "Are we going out?" The suit's voice was tinny, and barely audible.

Verity sighed and lifted the coat hanger off the rail. "Yes, we're going out."

"Where?"

Verity wriggled one leg into the suit. "Uh, the Hoover Dam?"

"I've never been before!" the suit exclaimed as Verity shrugged it over her shoulders. "What are we doing there? Do we need to be sneaky?"

"N-no," said Verity, pausing for a moment.

"That's fine!" continued the suit rapidly. "I mean, I'm more than just functional, I'm attractive, too."

Verity looked up at her old leather armour, hanging in the closet. There were a few tears in it, the odd bullet hole here and there, and it was starting to wear in places. She reached out a hand to touch the stiff leather; the metal reinforcing.

Months spent sitting around campfires in the middle of nowhere with Boone or Cass or Ronnie, drinking or telling jokes if they knew they were safe, keeping a low flame and watching through the night if not.

Exploring crumbling buildings, trying not to fall through the floors or lean too heavily on the walls, picking through old world junk.

The taste of cheap whiskey and scrabbling through dumpsters for caps.

Lying flat on the baking earth, the sun on her back and sand in her hair. Watching through her scope, dimly aware of Boone's presence at her side.

She brought her hand back, fingers trembling. It seemed so long ago. A different time. A different person.

"What happened?" asked the suit curiously. "Your heart rate just went crazy."

"It's nothing." Verity pulled her gloves on hurriedly and left, the wardrobe door still hanging open.

* * *

The early morning was crisp and cool, and she could see her breath in the air as she stepped out of the 38. It was dark; the sky was thick with cloud, and the casino neon was dark. Benny was waiting for her, standing next to Emily and a securitron.

"May I re-introduce you to Yes Man?" He made a mock bow.

Emily folded her arms. "I've put a couple of restrictions on his abilities," she said. "He'll do what you say for now. Unfortunately," she eyed him sideways, "I think he'll be able to find ways around that within the next two to four days. This one's trouble." There was something affectionate about her words.

"All I ask," said Yes Man, "is that your decisions are measured and reasonable."

"And you'll be the one applying those criteria," said Verity.

"I will be happy to provide you with a breakdown of inconsistencies in your plans," said Yes Man.

"Can it," said Benny. "We need to head out."

"Good luck," said Emily. "I'll be keeping an eye on the bots. I have a killswitch."

"For now," said Yes Man cheerfully, and began to roll away.

Verity ignored Benny's offered arm, and began to walk. One foot in front of the other. Each step she took felt like she was moving a little further away from the comfortable world she'd built. But the safety hadn't been real, had it? It was built on an understanding that neither party involved would ever stick to. So, she wasn't _leaving_ her comfortable world, she was going forth to build it. The thought didn't reassure her much.

Yes Man's face glowed eerily in the near-darkness. The walk through the dark streets of Freeside attracted a few stares, but few people wanted to pick a fight with a securitron, despite the goofy smile on the terminal. Instead, the residents hung back, eyes glittering in the low light, watching from buildings and alleyways as they passed.

Verity kept a hand on the pistol at her side. It was a habit she'd found hard to break, while walking through Freeside in the normal course of her duties, but the sight of one of the Strip bosses walking around as if she was likely to shoot at the slightest sign of a commotion was apparently not a reassuring one. Now, though, she was expecting an attack any moment, as if the NCR knew she was coming.

Verity was expecting the army of securitrons to be waiting outside the gate, as they were the first time she'd geared up for a battle over the Dam. She looked at Yes Man questioningly.

"Uh, don't you think it'd be a little obvious?" he asked. "The Legion had spies, yeah, but you hit them pretty hard at the Fort and crippled a lot of their capabilities. Plus they were luddites tech-wise. On the balance of probabilities, I consider it likely that they didn't have the time or the capacity to get a report to the Legion about the securitron army. And even if they did, what could they do? They were as prepared as they were going to get. NCR, on the other hand – we don't want to give them advanced warning if we can possibly avoid it. Are you following?"

"Yes," she snapped. "So where are they then? Going to jump out of the bushes at the last moment?"

"Almost!" he exclaimed. "They're positioned around the other side of the ridge from the Dam. We'll pick them up on the way past. But for now, we're just a man, a woman, and a securitron, out for a late-night walk."

This was ridiculous. This was completely ridiculous.

"Can we make one stop?" she found herself asking. "I want to pick up my dog."

"Never picked you for a dog person," Benny said, lighting a cigarette. "Still, I guess if you're into big dumb animals that follow you around-"

"You can _fucking_ stop right there," she snarled.

Benny grinned. "No need to take it so personal," he said. "Something on your mind?"

"Fuck you." She stepped past him and kept walking.

* * *

Gabe's bark was almost deafening in her ears. He bounced around her so that she had to turn to follow him, and nipped playfully at the air in front of her face. Roxie was content to run in rings around the both of them.

"Gabe!" she yelled. "Calm down."

He sat, obediently, and looked down on her.

She sighed. "I guess I've been neglecting you a little," she said. "Though I can see you're being fed well. Want to come for a walk?"

His tail began to wag. Roxie whined.

"Good boy," she said. "And yes, Roxie, you can come too, but you have to keep back, this is going to be dangerous."

Being slightly elevated above the rest of the wasteland on a beast straight out of a nightmare made her feel surprisingly better. Like she was finally in control of something. She rode back to Benny and Yes Man and pulled up in front of them.

"What," said Benny flatly. "What in the goddamn hell is that?" He took a step back as Gabe started to growl.

"Always had a flair for the dramatic," said Yes Man. "Both of you, come to think of it."

"Jesus," said Benny. "Can we get this circus on the road yet? It's getting late."

The group headed east, Roxie trotting along obediently behind them.

The securitrons, joining at the last minute, met them on the road. The trail of robots stretched back along the southbound road further than she could see, the robots at the back little more than a pale square of light in the dimness. The cloud was still thick overhead, but the securitron's monitors bathed the path in an eerie glow.

The crunching sound made by the securitron's wheels as they compacted the earth under the tread sounded like a dull roar. An army on the move.

Camp Golf was dark as they passed it, the windows of the resort blank and empty. It was staffed by little more than a skeleton crew, not even enough to maintain the defences that had been set up to fight the Legion. From the road that wound past it, Verity could see the walls of the Dam itself.

They covered ground surprisingly quickly. Verity held her back stubbornly straight as she rode, but her shoulders were tense and rigid as they moved. Her heart was thumping almost painfully in her chest. She clenched her jaw and tried to ignore it.

They skirted around Boulder City, which seemed to be still showing some signs of life – the bars were open late; music blaring, soldiers in uniform stumbling around the streets. Verity pulled up Gabe to watch them for a moment from a distance as the securitrons rolled past behind her. It must have been one of the few places still open in the region, no wonder it was so popular with soldiers heading off-base. She watched for a moment, before nudging Gabe gently and continuing along the road.

At last they passed the final corner. The wall of the dam spread out below them, a sweeping pale semi-circle holding back thousands of pounds of pressure.

"What the-" a voice from the darkness spoke up, and suddenly there was a beam of light in her face. "What the hell is that?"

She held up a hand to shield her eyes. A soldier was on watch, standing behind a circle of sandbags, gun hanging from his hand while he stared at Gabe. Benny was already moving forward, gun drawn. He took advantage of the soldier's distraction and touched his pistol to the man's spine.

"Drop everything," he said, his voice low. "Gun, radio, whatever." The soldier complied. Benny turned to Yes Man. "I want two securitrons watching him. Kill him if he tries anything."

Verity climbed off her dog carefully. "Stay here," she said to him. "Don't let anyone through."

"So how you wanna do this, dollface?" Benny asked. "Hit 'em hard and hope they don't get back up again?"

She grimaced. "Not ideally. Let's go in and see if we can negotiate something."

He folded his arms. "You sure you want to throw away our advantage of surprise here?"

"Have you been into the fucking thing?" she asked. "It's full of fucking stairs. It's got elevators in places, yeah, but I don't want to give anyone a chance to dig in when they hear gunfire."

He took a step back. "Okay, angel," he said, an eyebrow raised. "If that's what you want."

Verity turned to face Yes Man. "I want you to spread out as far as you can along the Dam without being seen," she said. "I need as much of this strip covered as possible. Don't shoot unless you really have to."

Benny followed her along the short road to the main building. They moved fast, trying to stay out of sight of anyone else who could be standing guard.

She opened the door.

There were two officers standing at the circular desk when she walked inside, mugs of steaming coffee on the surface beside them. They looked up at her without vague confusion.

One of them frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Verity turned to look at Benny, uncertain, but he just shrugged. She took a deep breath and wet her lips with her tongue. "I need you to evacuate everyone. Right now."

One of the soldiers narrowed his eyes. "Is there an emergency?' he asked.

Verity blinked. "Yes," she said. "There is."

"What would that be?" he asked.

She sighed. "That would be: I need you to get the fuck out, because I need this facility."

He looked at her for a moment, and ran his tongue over his teeth. "I'm going to have to decline that request, ma'am." He drew a handgun from the holster at his side.

She watched him raise his arm, almost in slow motion, until it was level with her eyes. She couldn't move.

Benny wrapped an arm around her, pulling her behind him;raised his own arm, and shot the officer in the head. The body dropped to the floor. Verity was frozen, stunned. Benny shifted his focus to the other soldier.

"You can still-" he began.

"Jesus _fuck_!" The soldier scrabbled frantically for his own gun. Another shot rang out, and the soldier slumped against the desk.

Benny rounded on Verity. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked. "He was gonna kill you."

"I just- I didn't want-" she stammered.

"You gotta expect," he said. "That if you're gonna march up to a military facility and say you're gonna take it, some people might not be so happy about it. Get it?"

"Y-yeah," she said. "I just – okay."

He leaned back against the desk, watching her critically. "Don't tell me you don't have the stomach for this, angel, I've seen you in action."

Her hands were shaking. "I don't like – doing all this. If we didn't have to."

"We _do_ have to." He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes you gotta make a tough call. Them or us. That's what it comes down to."

She looked away, unable to reply.

"So negotiation didn't go so well," he continued. "What's the plan now?"

"I – I've got an idea," she said. After a minute or two of searching, she found what she was looking for – the master fire alarm. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and hit it.

Alarm lights began to flash; whirling circles of yellow, the whooping of the siren was almost deafening.

Benny was dragging the bodies of the soldiers to the supply closet at one end of the room. Verity felt sick as she remembered the body of the engineer who had been stashed there when NCR's president was here.

She found the intercom microphone, and cleared her throat. "This is not a drill," she managed to force out. "Please keep calm, and evacuate immediately."

She looked over at Benny, lost.

He sighed. "Now we get out, I guess," he said. "Gotta give these kids a farewell party, if they catch us in here we're done. Come on."

The cold air hit her as she opened the door again. People were already flowing out of the doors. She held her breath as they noticed the wall of securitrons lined up against the cliffs. They froze. One soldier reached for his gun, but went down in a hail of laser fire.

"Resistance is not recommended," announced one of the securitrons. "Please surrender all weapons and line up in an orderly fashion. Please keep the doors clear."

The workers huddled in groups, disoriented and afraid; the soldiers paralysed and uncertain. There were far more people than Verity had been expecting, almost clogging the road that ran along the top of the Dam.

Gabe and Roxie stood at the entrance road, growling at anyone who came too close.

Verity wrapped her arms around herself in the darkness, standing close to Benny. She watched the workers as they left the safety of the Dam. This is what she'd chosen. This is what had to be done.

A woman marched up to them, her eyes burning. "What the hell is going on here?" she asked.

"Who are you?" asked Benny, lazily.

"I'm chief engineer at this facility," she said. "You want to let me know what the hell's going on?"

"This is our town," he said. "Just makin' sure everyone knows it."

"Go back to Boulder," said Verity, quietly. "Take everyone with you. Tell anyone you think should know, it doesn't matter."

Verity would never forget the glare she gave her.

"This isn't over," said the engineer.

"I'm sure it isn't," sneered Benny. "Now if you lot could just scram, that'd be great."

She turned on her heel without another word, fuming.

Benny looked over at Verity, with a faint smile. "You always manage to get things your way, don't you?" he said. "So, angel: now what?"


	56. Let Me Shoot

300 reviews is almost in sight. Holy shit. In this chapter we look at some interpersonal relationships :)

* * *

The next week was a blur. Yes Man, loaded onto the Dam's central computer, was able to control a stunning array of functions, which left Verity to manage the business as usual; keeping the population happy and reassured, trying to figure out where to move resources, and responding to the stream of courier-delivered formal notes of protest from the NCR. There was a stack of paper on her desk that someone else had opened. She hadn't even begun to think about reading them yet. The monorail linking Camp McCarran and the Strip had been shut down pre-emptively to avoid a reprisal.

Both Colonel Hsu and Colonel Moore had sent her urgent requests to meet. She wondered what would happen if she got both of them to come and see her at once; would they do some good-cop/bad-cop routine from out of an old vid, or would they end up fighting with each other?

Her old bodyguards, Frankie and Deano, had been by her side throughout. It had been a long time since she'd used them, but their presence was reassuring, almost enough to fill the yawning chasm of doubt and fear in the back of her mind.

She'd made a start on the things she'd promised people and never followed up on; the negotiations with Michael Angelo to let Veronica use some of his work space – which had essentially boiled down to showing up at his building with a bag full of caps and trying to cram him into a corner; installing Stella as head of police, securing a building for them to operate out of, and opening up recruitment; tentative engagement with the Kings still remaining in Freeside; marketing New Vegas as a safe, secure, and enjoyable place to be to the rest of the wasteland; and, finally, dealing with the ghouls she'd brought home from the Big Empty.

It was the last of these that she was currently working on. She sat in the guest chair in Shun Tze's hotel room in the Lucky 38, legs crossed and hands in her lap. Frankie and Deano took up unobtrusive positions near the door.

"How are you finding this place?" she asked. "It's probably a little more crowded than you're used to, I hope it's not too hard on you guys."

It took a moment for him to answer. "This place," he said at last. "When we lived in the camp, I had thought that everywhere like this had been destroyed. That everything was gone."

"Yeah, House had like, this bomb-targeting laser system set up to protect the city," explained Verity. "I think that's what he said it was. He used to run this place."

"House," repeated Shun Tze.

"Y- oh, yeah, he had this weird pod that kept him alive for – what, two hundred years, is it?

"He is still alive?"

"Oh," said Verity. "No. He, um, died. Well, he asked me to kill – some of my friend's family. Ronnie. You've met her, the one with the dark hair. And I couldn't."

He watched her calmly. "So you killed him," he said. "And have taken his place."

She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "Yes."

"I see."

"What?" she said, her tone sharper than she'd intended.

"Forgive me," he said. "I did not mean to offend. This new world is – strange to me. To us."

She folded her arms uncomfortably. "Guess I can understand that," she said. "So, any ideas about what you'd like to do? Like I said a while back, there's a big Chinese community down there. I don't know if that means you want to go hang out with them, or whatever, just saying it's an option."

"What would you like us to do?" he asked.

She blinked at him. "Um. Whatever you want."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy him. "You have no purpose for us?"

She frowned. "You mean did I bring you back here for something? Not particularly. Unless any of you are like, dam engineers or something."

"A number of us have – had – degrees." He looked down. "Although I cannot say what knowledge may be left. When I think about my life – before, there are things – absent."

"Do you want to stay?" asked Verity, her eyes widening. "Is that what you're asking? Because you can totally stay, I just have to find you somewhere else to live because we need the hotel back."

"You have given us a lot," he said, quietly.

"I-" she began, but closed her mouth, pressing her lips together. After a moment she spoke again. "I have a lot. To give."

"When we were young," he said hesitantly, "many doors were closed to us."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because – we were different."

"That's-" Verity sighed. "That's still going to happen. It shouldn't, but it does, and if you get anything like that you should come tell me, because I don't want that in my city, but – some things don't change. I guess."

"I saw a mirror, recently" he said. "For the first time in – centuries."

Verity looked up at him, tried to piece together what he must have looked like. Dark hair, dark eyes, smooth skin. His bone structure was still strong, under his ragged skin. She looked away, feeling like she could see too much.

"Are you – you know, okay?" she asked. "You've all survived for so long in – those circumstances, and I've just kind of picked you all up and dropped you here. If you need to talk to someone, or see a doctor, or anything like that-" she chewed on her lip. "I'll have someone take you down to the Followers. I should have thought of it before, it-"

"You are – too kind," he said. He smiled.

* * *

The penthouse was a goldfish bowl, although it was the only place she felt she could safely tell her bodyguards she didn't need them for a minute or two. A round, glass enclosure for her to watch the world from. The only place she could be assured she was safe. Still, every now and again she caught herself watching for the glint of a sniper's scope from the rooftops below. Almost expected it, somehow.

She could feel Benny watching her before she saw him.

"What's gotten under your skin, angel?"

She let her hunched shoulders relax slightly. "You gonna tell me I'm no fun any more?"

A quiet laugh. "That wasn't going to be my angle, honey, but you gotta admit…" he left the rest of the sentence hanging.

She turned to face him. "Do you ever-" she wasn't sure what she wanted to ask. _Doubt yourself? Regret anything you've done?_

He tilted his head slightly and looked at her almost fondly. "You take everything to heart, don't you, angel," he said. "You have to remember, it's all-"

"Just business," she said bitterly. "I don't see how you can call it that."

He grinned. "War's a business, same as any other. Profitable, if you're in the right place."

She didn't reply.

"Come downstairs with me," he said. "Play some pool. Take your mind off things."

She felt a momentary flash of panic at the thought of leaving her goldfish-bowl-security, but stifled it. "I guess," she said.

"There's my girl," he said. "Come on."

Stepping back into the presidential suite was almost like stepping back in time. Verity held her breath as she walked out of the elevator, rich crimson wallpaper and plush carpet all around. She almost expected to see Cass walking out of the kitchen, or Veronica sitting on the floor, trying to put something together with junk spread out all around her.

Benny noted her hesitation. He smirked, but didn't say anything. She followed him through to the lounge and watched as he set up the table.

"Drink?"

She shrugged. He poured her a half-glass of scotch and handed it to her. The weight felt reassuring in her hand.

"Now, you know how to play, right?" he asked.

"Kind of? It's been a while since I played last."

He grinned. "Let's see what you remember." He leaned low over the table to break. A spotted ball rolled into one of the pockets.

She looked at him dubiously. "That's how it's gonna be, huh?"

He smiled.

"Right," she said, and bent over the table.

"Almost," he said, coming around to her side of the table. He touched her lightly on the back and lifted her cue to adjust the angle. "There we go. Try now."

The shot missed.

"Ah, you'll pick it up," he said.

She laughed.

Benny sunk his next shot, and the one after that.

"When you came back," Benny said casually, leaning over the table to line up another one. "You were different." The white ball tapped against the solid red ball sharply, driving it fast into the corner pocket.

"Okay, if you're some kind of pool shark, this game is over," she said, holding up her hands. "I never could be bothered setting up all this shit just to knock it back down again."

He smiled; a flash of white teeth. "It's a controlled demolition, baby," he said. "But I'll go easy on you." The next ball sank into the hole, but the white ball followed it. "And you didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask a question." Verity fished the white ball back out of the pocket. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said wryly. "And let me clarify – the question is: what happened?"

"It's none of your business what happened," she muttered.

"If it interferes with your ability to do this job, then, yeah, it's my business."

Verity took aim at one of the striped balls, but the white ball sailed smoothly past. She sighed irritably. "Is it really?"

"I would say so," he said, watching her through half-lidded eyes, holding the wooden cue stick loosely.

Her grip on the cue in her hand tightened. "I – remembered some things," she said quietly.

Benny's eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That wasn't the answer I was expecting." He took a step back, as if to examine her more fully. "So, who are you, angel?"

She could feel her skin turning a resentful red. "No one," she said. "Are you going to go?"

His smile widened, but he obligingly missed his next shot, barely bothering to pretend it wasn't on purpose.

"Your accent says that you're from out east somewhere," he said. "So, let me try and put some things together."

Verity didn't reply. Her next shot hit the ball far too hard, knocking it off the table.

He didn't make a move to pick it up. "Never knew your parents," he said. "That's not that uncommon, though. Got into chems at a young age? Again, pretty common."

She walked around the table to retrieve the ball herself. "The fuck does it matter?" she snapped.

He caught her wrist in his hand as she walked past and pulled her towards him. "What is it you don't want to say, angel?" His dark eyes were sparkling. "You used to run with a gang or something?"

She tried to tug her hand away.

"That's it?" he asked, tightening his grip. "That's what's got your cage so rattled? 'Cause that's a pretty common story 'round here too."

She ceased her struggling, and looked up into Benny's eyes. She wasn't sure what she was looking for. She looked away. "We – we weren't a proper gang," she admitted quietly. "Just a – I don't know. Bunch of kids, mostly." She bit her lip. "I led a few raids on caravans. They didn't always go smoothly."

Benny raised an eyebrow. "So where's the problem?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Problem _is_, I killed a lot of people who were just trying to make a fucking living," she spat. "And then I got my friends killed too."

Benny's grip on her wrist loosened, but she didn't try to pull away. "This is what's been tearing you up so bad? I'm just puzzled, angel. This happens to a lot of people, you know, they go a little wild when they're young and then regret it later, but you've taken these regrets to a whole new level."

"I can't handle it," she hissed. "_Fuck_. I just – the blood, and – and the – they talked sometimes, and-" She could feel her heart starting to pound.

"Come on, angel," said Benny. "They knew the risks. That's why caravans hire guards. If they didn't hire good enough guards, that ain't your fault."

"That's – what? No," she said. "That's not – how things are."

"That's exactly how things are," he said. "The world's a tough place. If you aren't strong enough, someone stronger's gonna take you out. You know this as well as I do."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Sometimes you gotta do some things like that to get ahead," he said with a shrug. "Seemed like you dealt with getting rid of House okay."

"I didn't – didn't want to." Her statement came out sounding more like a question.

"Nothing wrong with a little compassion. Just seems like maybe you got a little too much. It's a dog-eat-dog world, baby. You gotta be tough to make it big. And right now – we are pretty damn big. That's just how things are."

Her shoulders sank a little. "Just how things are," she repeated.

"And you're going to go crazy if you keep stewing over every mistake you ever make," he continued. "You gotta move on."

"Guess that's all we can do," she said, staring at the floor.

Benny let go of her wrist and gently lifted her chin with his hand.

"Baby, we've been playing house a long time," he said. "You need to stop fighting everything so damn hard."

He leaned down to kiss her. The pool cues clattered to the floor.

She leaned into him; the scent of his cologne and his hand on her waist and his warmth against her and-

"Jesus Christ." She pulled away. "Fuck. I can't. I can't. I'm sorry. Shit." She pressed her hand to her mouth and stepped back, bumping into the pool table.

Benny watched her with a resigned smile, not saying a word.

"I-" She didn't know what to say, her eyes wide and panicky, darting around the room. "Sorry," she said again, and bolted out of the suite.


	57. A Seven

There's a whole lot of things about Verity which I have in my head but have never actually written about. I kind of want to share but I don't know how to get it all out. An "ask" tumblr maybe? D:

I also wanted to let you know that I don't plan these ahead of time really AT ALL. I have a few vague plot ideas but I've never written down shit. I also don't have any type of buffer chapters saved up, I always go straight from blank page to write to post. Because that's how I roll.

Ps. LOTTA STUFF in this chapter.

Edit!: Thank you all so much for getting me to 300 reviews! Omg actually way too excited. I love you all.

* * *

The gun looked like a toy in her hands, like she'd seen the kids in Freeside playing with. Or maybe some sort of souvenir sold inside Dinky the dinosaur in Novac. Orange and black and clear blue plastic, an antenna on top. How the hell could it possibly work? It must be a joke. It had to be. Didn't it?

She lifted it, tentatively, in her hand. She hadn't really told the others, mostly because it made no fucking sense to her and she couldn't figure out how to explain it. She could imagine the look on Arcade's face as she said the words "magic gun that flies you to the Big Empty", and wasn't too keen on being the recipient of it.

She sighed and put it back down in her lap. Stupid. What could she possibly accomplish? Destroying even more of the bonds she'd forged over the past year or so? But anything would be better than sitting in the penthouse suite, alone, watching the sun set. Stupid. She touched the gun to her temple with a sneer on her face, closed her eyes, and squeezed the trigger.

The breeze ruffled her hair. She opened her eyes. She was standing on the Sink balcony, high over the crater below. The Big Mountain crater was empty and barren, but – it felt somehow safe. No one here cared about who she was or what she was meant to be doing, just that she'd helped out in the past and that they could trust her. The amount of relief she felt was almost overwhelming.

The Sink personalities chattered at her as she walked inside, and for a moment she felt guilty about leaving them alone for so long. After a quick greeting, she made her way downstairs. The Think Tank Dome doors slid open.

Mobius was the first to notice her. He drifted up to her delightedly. At some point he had had his broken monitor replaced, and the beginnings of the rust she'd seen on his chassis were gone.

"It's so good to see you again, my dear!" he exclaimed. "I have rediscovered a vast amount of work I thought I had lost forever. And a lot of information on cow-related experiments, for some reason. I don't remember those. I wonder if they were important."

She felt a smile rising to her face. "It's good to see you again, too," she said. "I – I don't really have a reason to be back, exactly, I just-" she broke off.

"You are always welcome, my dear. Can I offer you a mentat?"

"Maybe a bit later," she said. She was still holding the Transportalponder in her hand. "Just – just a moment," she said. "I need to talk to Klein."

She walked up the steps towards the Think Tank leader. "I wanted to ask about this thing here," she said, holding up the Transportalponder. "When I pull the trigger again, where's it going to spit me back out?"

Klein stared at her like she was the result of an unsuccessful experiment. "Close to the satellite," he said, finally.

"In Nipton?" she asked. "That's kind of a long way from where I live."

"We tear through the very fabric of space and time and you complain about the inconvenience?" he roared.

"I'm just saying," said Verity. "It's a minor design flaw."

He made a noise of disgust. "Talk to Dr O. He may concern himself with your mundanities, but I will not."

"That's real helpful," said Verity sarcastically. "Thanks."

"You are welcome," he said firmly, and turned away.

She trotted down the stairs.

"Hey," Verity said to Dala and Dr O. "See, I told you I'd come back."

"It seems like it's been so long since you dropped in," said Dala, a little reproachfully. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about us."

"It took me fucking forever to get back home, okay?" she said. "It's a fucking long way."

"Which is why we gave you the Transportalponder."

Verity shifted her weight to her other foot. "But then I wouldn't have been able to take as much stuff back with me."

"If you exceeded your luggage allowance you have nobody to blame but yourself," Dala sniffed.

She frowned and turned back to Dr O. "Can you like, set a different location for this?" she asked. "Other than the Nipton area, I mean. It's just a little inconvenient to fuckin' walk all the way back up the I-15 afterwards."

Dr O extended a pincer and took the gadget from her delicately. "I'm sure it's possible," he said. "See, the reason it's set to the location it has now is that it's pretty empty out there. You don't want to find that something's already standing where you're teleporting to."

"Why not?" Verity leaned forward.

Dala drifted a little closer. "You can't occupy the same space as anything else, little one," she said. "If another human is standing where you land, the results are likely to be… fleshy."

"It causes a bigger reaction than you'd think," agreed Dr O. "It's not just a sudden fuse into a creepy hybrid person. It can be quite explosive. And I mean _quite_ explosive. You'll take out anything in – oh, a good hundred feet or so. You will be a fine mist in the breeze." He gave a mechanical sort of shrug with his monitors. "But, that's what you get when you break the laws of physics," he said.

"What if I like – picked out an area to travel back to?" she said. "And made sure it was clear all the time."

"If you hand over the coordinates – and elevation – it's doable," he said. "But you better be sure." He turned back to the bank of computers he was working at. "Just let me – hold on a minute."

She waited.

At last he turned back. "Okay. I think I can work out some sort of mark/recall modification on this thing. Come back in a few hours."

She turned to go, but Dala followed her. "Won't you just stay for a while?" she asked. "It's been so long since I've – seen you."

Verity grinned. "Scan away," she said.

"So," Dala cooed. "How have you been? I do hope you're happy, happy humans are so much more pleasant to watch."

Verity's grin froze on her face.

"Oh, no, no, no," said Dala. "Keep breathing. Your dopamine levels are a little low, how unusual. What's wrong?"

"Things are-" she hesitated, but Dala's huge calm blank eyes on the screens calmed her a little. "Things haven't been going so well, lately," she croaked. "I'm – I don't know. What to do. What's even happening."

"Oh," said Dala, a little confusedly. "Well – I think the auto-doc in your room used to have a psychiatric function. You could try up there?"

Verity twisted her lips into a smile. "Yeah," she said. "Might try that later. I'm going to – hang around here first for a bit, though." She backed away hurriedly, and made for the other side of the room.

"How is Gabe?" asked Borous anxiously, when she walked up to him.

She wrinkled her nose. "He's good," she said. "I don't really exercise him as much as he needs, though."

"No," he said. "I – I didn't either."

"I want to build him, like, some space," she said. "Like next to where I live. So he can run around and I can keep an eye on him at the same time. He's a sweet dog, but, you know. Dogs can get a little bit rough, and if this dog gets a little bit rough, then-"

"I'm familiar with what happens when he gets rough," said Borous gloomily. "Is he – happy?"

"Yeah," said Verity. "I think so."

"Good." He floated away.

She turned around to see Dr 8, and smiled.

"Still got that cable?" she asked.

He indicated the table next to him with a tilt of his monitors. The cable was lying where she'd left it, and she plugged it back into her pip-boy.

"So how's this working out for you?" she asked. "Can you use it to talk to the others?"

_Mobius somehow understands me without it. This system is not compatible with the others, but I've always preferred to work in peace._

"Could I bring you something that could fix your voice module thing?" she asked. "It seems inconvenient, that's all."

_Not necessary. I find this method of communication has a certain – purity._

"Uh, if you say so," she said. "Hey, I've been thinking about this for a while – can you make me something that might be able to knock a whole lot of people out of commission at once? Uh, not kill them, or hurt them, really, just – just stop them from being able to fight. This is from like a law enforcement perspective, I'm just after some tools."

Dr 8 gave an excited mechanical trill.

_The old brown note, you mean? I used to do a lot of work in this area, but haven't touched it for years. If you give me a month or so I can make you a prototype, but without human testing I can't guarantee anything, not limited to subjects remaining alive._

"No human testing." She frowned. "I'll test it on lakelurks or molerats or deathclaws or something. Maybe all of them."

_I would be delighted to help!_

The think tank returned to his data banks with excitement. She turned towards the door.

She returned upstairs, and stood in the doorway watching the auto-doc uneasily.

"Something troubling you, young lady?" it asked.

"Um," she said. "I'm a bit – crazy?"

"Well, why don't you come over here," it said. "Let me get a good look at ya."

"Do I have to get inside?" she asked dubiously.

"Not if you don't want to. Well, it's been a while since I fired up the old psych eval, but okay. Why don't you tell me how you've been feeling?"

"Uh." She looked at the functions screen uncomfortably. "I don't know."

There was a moment's silence. Verity bit hard on her lip and stared at the screen. Her heart was racing and she didn't even know why.

"I guess-" she stammered. "Just – all twisted up. I guess. That sounds dumb." She could feel her skin beginning to flush. Talking to a fucking machine about the mess she'd made of her life. "Everything's just-" She pressed her lips together hard.

"I'm starting to see, young lady," it said. "Just keep talking. It'll help me figure out just what's going on with you. And don't be worried about me judging you, see, I don't even have the tools for it." He chuckled, an unsettling mechanical sound she guessed was meant to be reassuring.

"Holy shit," she said. "Um. Okay. Um. Everyone that – I don't know. That I care about." She wet her dry lips with her tongue. "They left. Because – I – I used to be a raider. Well – maybe not everyone. Some people. And-"

"The Oakland raiders?" the machine asked. "You don't seem like the type."

She stared. "What? No. Uh, I don't think so, anyway. Like – you know. Um. I used to rob people. For a living. Take their shit. And I – I used to do some – Christ. Pretty bad things. And – I can't get away from it. It's just there all the time. Even if I'm trying not to think about it."

"I see," it said. "Adjusting parameters."

She sighed. "This is kind of pointless."

"Not at all," he said. "Please continue."

She leaned back against the central command console wearily. "I don't even know if I remember everything," she said. "I don't remember being a kid. And I – I'm not sure if I know what happened after-" she broke off, a lump in her throat. "After that all – finished, and what happened until I ended up becoming a courier. I just don't – thinking about it hurts."

"You're carrying a lot of guilt," said the auto-doc.

"No _shit_," she snapped. "This is a fucking waste of time."

"If you feel that way, you can leave," it said calmly.

"I don't even get the fucking point," she snarled. "You're a fucking obsolete piece of shit. You've been worthless for two hundred years."

"Oh, it's true," said the auto-doc ,"that I haven't had an update in a good long while, but I've been a military unit my whole service life. Back then, though, we got a lot of people drafted from a lot of different backgrounds. Some were – well, criminals, there's no easy way around sayin' that. Minor criminals, mostly. Petty theft, or car-jacking, or just protestors – and let me tell you, that didn't sit well with a lot of the higher-ups. But as the war went on, you see, we started to see more and more of those that had committed serious crimes. Murderers. Hardened gang members."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked impatiently.

"Oh, I'm getting there, miss. Thing is about killing another person – and we saw this, too, in soldiers who came back from, say, Anchorage – is that killing another person changes you. You can deny it all you like – a lot of these criminals we used to get did, they'd say it didn't mean a damn thing to them, and they'd do it again, but – it hurt them. And from what I know of what you've gotten up to, you've killed a lot."

"So what's your fucking point?" she snapped. "Yeah, I've killed a lot of people."

"What I'm saying is that, while your response is normal, you're going to need to face all of this head-on. Odds are that trying not to think about it, like you seem to have been doing, is just making this whole thing harder for yourself."

The retort she'd had half-prepared died on her lips. "Right," she said. "Well – what do I do?"

There was a moments silence. "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you this," it said. "But there's no quick fix. I'd suggest you keep coming back on over here to work through a treatment plan. There's going to be a lot of talking."

She narrowed her eyes. "M-maybe," she said. "You can't do anything to help me now, though? I can't – I mean, Jesus, my head's a mess."

"Why don't you step inside for a physical?" it asked. "If everything checks out I can give you something to help calm you down for the moment, at least."

She stepped inside obediently, and closed her eyes as the white light began to move over her body. She wasn't entirely sure whether the light actually did anything or was just to keep the patient distracted.

"Well, that excludes that option," said the auto-doc, finally. "Can't hand out something like that for someone in your condition." The door slid open.

She didn't step out. "Wh- what condition would that be?" she asked uneasily.

"Oh." The auto-doc sounded taken aback. "You didn't know already?"

"Know what?" she asked, a gnawing pit of dread beginning to grow in her stomach.

"Well – you're pregnant," it said.

"I'm fucking _what_?"


	58. With Every Shot

I feel like this is a little inconsistent, and a lot gimmicky. In this chapter we have: tying up loose ends, and an old friend makes an appearance :)

Also, thanks again to everyone who has reviewed, they seriously keep me going. I wouldn't have been able to write this much without you! YES YOU. We're _kind_ of in the process of winding down.

* * *

"No no no," said Verity. "No. No I'm not."

"I take it this wasn't a planned pregnancy then?"

"Can – can you not say – say that word?" She took a step back, her legs shaking. "I can't. I can't. Can't be." She bumped her heels on the central console and sat down on it hard, ignoring it's muttered protest.

"You're not going down the immaculate conception route, are you?" The auto-doc asked. "Because let me tell you, that one's not going to fly."

"I – I don't even – holy shit." She could barely speak "Uh. How – how long has it – has it-"

"Looks to me to be eight to twelve weeks," it said.

Verity's heart was thumping wildly, arrhythmically. "I – I've been – uh. Either drunk or high for the last… um. Year. Is it – is it actually-" she swallowed. "Actually okay? Like – normal?"

"Well, it does look like its maybe a little on the small side, so I'd advise you to cut down on that sort of thing in the future. We should be able to sort that out with a couple of shots, though." That strange mechanical laugh, again. "Lucky you're not afraid of needles, isn't it?"

"Fuck you," she said half-automatically. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. "Look, I don't – I don't want – I don't think I can handle. A baby. I don't even know what to do with one."

_Baby_. She repeated the word inside her head, trying to make sense of it. _A baby_. _A baby? _

"Is the, ah – father still in the picture?"

She pressed a hand to her mouth. She felt hollow; as if she'd been torn open and everything inside ripped out. "No," she said, her voice muffled.

"I see," said the auto-doc. "Well… You have some options, but I wouldn't advise you to hurry into anything just yet. Take a day or two. See how you feel about it. I understand you're a woman with some resources at your disposal."

"Fuck. Yeah, I guess I – fuck." She rubbed her fingers against her forehead hard. "_Shit_." She stared at the floor between her feet, barely able to focus on the grey linoleum. She'd been careless. How had she been so careless? Somehow the idea that she might end up – she could barely even think the word – _pregnant_ had never occurred to her.

The light in the room flickered for a moment, and then turned to pink. "Pink is a soothing and relaxing colour," announced the lightswitch. "Which will be helpful for new and confusing situations."

"Oh my god, fucking shut up," snapped Verity, desperately. "Okay. Okay, I'm going to go – get that fucking transport gun thing, and then I'm going to go – go home."

She didn't move, still sitting half in the holographic display of the central intelligence unit.

After a minute or two of silence, the auto-doc spoke up. "Let me give you those shots I was talking about," he said. "They're mostly vitamins, maybe a mild hormone mix thrown in. You're going to need to come back for a few of these, though, just to make sure development's okay."

Verity's lips were dry. "What if I don't – don't want to keep it?" she asked.

"We'll deal with that when you've had a little more time to think about it, how's that?" it asked. "Until then, though, I would really recommend that you get these shots. Might even help you feel a little better."

Verity nodded, more to herself than the machine in front of her. "'Kay," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

She stood up, shakily, and offered her arm to the awaiting needle. She watched miserably as it slid under her skin.

"Thanks," she said, awkwardly. "I guess – I'll see you later."

"Come back in a week," said the auto-doc. "Let me see how you're doing."

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe."

She stumbled back down to the Think Tank.

* * *

Dr O was telling her something. Something important. She stared at him blankly.

"Now, see," he said. "You can program co-ordinates in by pressing these buttons here. You can lock them in if you pick _this_ option, and if you have it locked in properly, this light here will go on."

Verity nodded.

"You can set nine of these at a time, and you can re-write them by just picking the appropriate option from the same menu as befo – are you listening?"

Verity blinked. "What?"

Dr O gave a pointed sigh. "Fine, I'll print you out the release notes. Not like I'm doing you some huge favour here or anything."

"I'm sorry." It felt like she was talking to someone in a dream, like the words weren't even coming out of her mouth. "I'm – there's – um. Something. Something wrong."

"Oh," he said. "I hope it's not… serious?" His tone indicated that he didn't particularly want her to elaborate further.

"A little bit." She took the transportalponder from him, along with the sheaf of notes. She forced a smile. "Thanks," she said. "I'll see you – sometime."

She walked out into the baking sun, the light almost dazzling after the cool dark of the Dome. She stared out at the horizon; the jagged mountains and the weak indigo of the sky. She wanted to cry, to scream, to wail at the sky until her throat was hoarse. Instead, she pulled the trigger on the transportalponder.

There was a very brief sensation of movement, and then she was standing in the deserted drive-in, staring up at the empty screen. She turned to see the satellite close behind her, still waving a metal arm sporadically. The skyline of New Vegas was hidden by Black Mountain.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she said. It was going to be a long walk home.

She arrived back in town, eventually, exhausted and dusty and streaked with sweat. The sky was a cruel blue, unmarred by clouds, and the sun had been beating down on her for hours.

The crowd in Freeside pressing in on her made her nervous, even if she was barely recognisable.

Benny was in the casino level of the 38, and as soon as he saw her, started making his way towards her. She hit the button to close the elevator doors just as he stepped through them. She leaned back against the carpeted elevator wall as it began to rise.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said. "About the other night."

Verity folded her arms. "Just – don't worry about it. I don't want to have a big awkward conversation."

His brown eyes were warm. "I know you've been having a hard time lately.

"It's – fine," she said. "I'm kind of just – a mess. At the moment."

"If there's anything I can do, let me know," he said.

She clenched her hands into fists, trying not to think about the feeling of the fabric of his coat under her fingertips. "It's fine," she said again, tightly.

They stepped out into the penthouse suite.

Benny was walking over to the bar. "Drink?" he asked.

Her stomach churned uneasily. "Maybe – in a while. Just got back, you kn-"

The elevator bell rang again. Two men she vaguely recognised as members of the hotel security were hauling a man between them, his hands tightly bound with duct tape. Short dark hair, a slightly worn suit. She didn't recognise him.

They dropped him to his knees on the striped yellow rug. No explanation seemed to be forthcoming.

"Uh," said Verity. "You guys get me a stripper or something?"

"We caught him in the stairwell," one of them said. "Trying to get into the basement."

Benny made a strangled sound, and when she turned to look at him he was pale. "Jesus Christ," he said. "What the hell are you bringing him in here for?"

Verity frowned. "What? Who is it?"

The guard who had spoken shrugged. "We got nowhere to keep anyone prisoner that locks good enough," he said. "'Cept for the cash room, but that's not an ideal place to lock someone up, if you get my meaning. What with the cash, and all."

Benny's eyes were wide. "He's Legion," he said quietly. "Important. One of the big players."

Verity looked at the prisoner critically. "You don't look like much," she said. "What's your name?"

"It's Vulpes Inculta," he said. "We've met. Twice. I'm hurt you don't recognise me." His voice was flat and cold.

She felt a cold chill run down her spine. The muscles between her shoulderblades tensed, and suddenly she was back in Nipton, eyes stinging from smoke and staring up an avenue of crosses. She turned back to Benny. "He wasn't at the Fort?" She forced the words out.

"Guess not."

"Anything on him?" she asked the security guards, struggling to keep her voice level.

"Pistol. Some weird powder. We took everything."

"Right," said Verity. She looked at the prisoner, wrists tightly taped. He couldn't move – he wouldn't be able to surprise her. She was in control. "Okay. Thanks. You can go."

"_No_," said Benny firmly. "No, they can't. They stay."

Verity paused for a moment, then acknowledged him with a nod. She turned to the prisoner.

"Sick son of a bitch, aren't you?" she asked, almost conversationally. "What were you trying to do here?"

He didn't answer.

"You're after something, right?" she asked, sneering. "Lost your old master, looking for a new one?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in an approximation of a smile. "Not quite."

"So what, then?"

He didn't answer.

She narrowed her eyes coldly. "You know," she said, taking a step back. "This doesn't really make sense. The psycho I met in Nipton wouldn't let himself be caught by two security guards."

His face remained blank and impassive, but his dark eyes watched her closely.

"So," She continued." The question remains – what are you trying to accomplish here?"

Still, he remained silent.

"Let me take a guess," she said. "You've heard I'm into second chances. You think you can show up here – maybe make a token attempt at resisting, and then put on a show of remorse – and then I let you into my inner circle. Is that your plan? Your idea of the narrative of how this shit is going to go down?" She took a step towards him. "That I'm meant to think you're too valuable to kill? You're too important an asset? You'd be a good hostage?" She sneered. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I don't see why he'd be the one doing the grunt work himself," Benny said to her, more or less ignoring the prisoner entirely.

"I've always preferred the personal touch," said Vulpes. "As, I've heard, do you."

"The Legion is dead and gone," she said, leaning forward a little. "Isn't it?"

He didn't answer.

"Your choice," she said. Her lip curled into a snarl. "I think I'd like to put a bomb collar on you and sell you to the Wrangler."

"You think he'd have a problem setting it off?" asked Benny.

She deflated a little. "I – hmm. Okay. Good point."

Vulpes was watching her closely. His eyes gave nothing away.

Verity turned back to Benny. "Only one option then." She reached for her pistol and dropped to one knee. "Joshua Graham gave me this," she said, holding up the .45 close to Vulpes' face.

He didn't react. "That's not a surprise?" she asked, vaguely irritated.

"Not a surprise," he confirmed.

She shrugged. "Oh well," she said. "Can't have everything I want." She straightened up, took a step back, and aimed it at his head.

"You really going to do this on the rug, angel?" Benny spoke up. His colour had largely returned, the familiar confidence back in his voice.

She sighed, and motioned the security team to move him off it. "It's an ugly rug anyway," she grumbled.

Benny shrugged. "I guess if we shoot him up here we could roll him up in it. Kinda keeps the mess to a minimum."

Verity raised an irritated eyebrow at him. "Fine," she said. "Back on the rug then."

Vulpes was dragged back. He looked up at her with those calm grey eyes. "We have Graham," he said.

Verity paused, her eyes narrowed. "Is that right?" she asked, finally. "Well, I've already saved him once – arguably twice – so, if he actually has gotten himself into trouble;" she shrugged, half-smiling; "he's going to have to get himself out of this one."

To his credit, Vulpes didn't show any sign of emotion, his face remaining passive.

Verity thought about how close they'd come to losing; how the Legion had cut a swathe across the wasteland, destroying everything in its path. The slaves at Fortification Hill and Cottonwood; the ranger station littered with body parts and rigged to explode. The bill of sale in Jeannie May's safe; the White Legs and the town of Searchlight.

"You don't belong in my world anymore," she said, quietly. "And make no mistake – it _is_ my world."

"You don't have the strength to hold it," he said, dispassionately. "And when you fall, there will be someone waiting to take your place."

She crouched, until she was on the same level as him, an arm's length away. "I should put your head on a fucking stick for what you've done," she said softly. "Instead, though – you're getting the quickest way out I can think of."

She lifted the barrel of the .45 until it was almost touching Vulpes' eye. He didn't flinch, just kept watching her with those grey eyes.

"When you see him, tell Caesar I said 'fuck you'," she said, and pulled the trigger.


	59. Viva

Okay I actually fucking made an ask blog. Wtf. Address is .com because I'm doing it with my friend kittenkatpaw/geekpaws, yo. Ask me shit because I am desperate for attention or w/e.

This chapter is one I have been planning for some time :) What I like to do Friday evenings (honestly, because I am this lame) is drink a bunch of cider and do a bunch of writing. LOVE.

* * *

Verity and Benny watched as the security guards wrapped up the body and took it away.

"I was wondering how to get rid of that rug," said Verity. "Best thing for everyone all round, I think."

"Guess he took a gamble and lost," said Benny. "Nasty piece of work."

Verity looked up at him. "What'd he do to you?"

Benny reached for his cigarette case. "I'd rather not discuss my very brief time as a guest of Caesar, if it's all the same to you."

"How come?" asked Verity. "Was it weird? He totally seems like the type to be into weird prisoner shit."

Benny looked sideways at her. "Seriously," he said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. "I'm really not going to talk about it. _And_ I need a drink."

She followed him into the bar area and sat down on one of the faded red seats by the window. "Could you just make mine a sarsaparilla please?" she asked.

Benny turned to look at her, curiously. "What's with the soft drinks, angel?" he asked. "You've never struck me as the abstinent type."

She looked up at him, and for a moment wanted to tell him everything. "It's messing with my head," she said, instead. "I need to just – stop. For a bit."

Benny shrugged. "Your call, angel. Sarsaparilla it is."

She sank down in her chair, listening to the clinking of ice in the glasses behind her.

"I met him twice," she said. Benny handed her the glass and took the seat opposite her, placing his glass on the low table between them. "I met him once in Nipton, once outside the Tops, just after you ran off to the Fort. There's something fucking wrong with him. Just puts you on edge. Like he's - I don't know. Only pretending to be human. When you're with him, all your senses are screaming at you that you need to get away from him right fucking now." She took a sip from her glass. The drink was sweet and unsatisfying and didn't burn the way she wanted it to. She stared at it balefully.

"You sure he's dead?" Benny asked.

Verity grinned. "Yeah. Exit wound and everything. I make sure people are dead after I kill them, see. You could learn a couple things." She leaned back in her seat.

Benny's smile was savage. "So who's Graham?"

"Burned Man," she said.

"As in – the Legion 'Burned Man'?"

"Yeah," she said, flatly. "Scary motherfucker, actually."

"They said they had him."

"Yeah." Verity took another gulp from her glass. "I think he was bullshitting me. Like, I don't have a particularly good sense of when someone is lying, but basically Graham is like, the baddest motherfucker around. Would he let himself be captured? No. Would he fight to the death? Yes. Would he be kind of a badass while doing it? Yes."

Benny crossed his legs at the ankle. "You never tell me about anything about these places you go. You just come back, a little more messed up each time."

She laughed, and leaned forward to put her glass on the table. "It's because you wouldn't believe me. Because they make no sense. They're the prettiest and the ugliest and the best and worst places I've ever seen. I can't even believe some of them exist."

"They seem like they left their mark on you," he observed.

"You have no idea," said Verity, keeping her arms close to her sides to avoid touching where the scar across her forehead used to run.

"Still, you keep ending up in these situations," he continued. "Odd, isn't it?"

She shrugged defensively. "Guess I take more risks than others."

A faint smile played across his lips. "You can say that again, baby. I've never met a gal quite as crazy as you."

"And I've never met a guy who'll take the risks you do," she said. "Guess that makes us a good pair?"

He took a minute to reply. "Yeah," he said, eventually. "Guess so."

She tried to reach forwards for her glass. She couldn't move. She was aware she should be concerned, she should be terrified, but all she felt was amusement.

"What the hell did you put in my drink, Benny?" she said, with a smile.

He shook his head. "One or two of your old vices," he said, lighting a cigarette. "You've got a hell of a tolerance, angel. Had me worried for a second. Did you really stop when you say you did?"

"Not really," she said, blinking lazily. It was a struggle to keep her head upright. "But – I have to. Now. The baby."

"The what?" He froze, eyes wide, cigarette slowly turning to ash between his fingers. He shook his head. "No. I don't believe you."

"I wasn't that thrilled either," she said. "I don't know – don't know what I'm gonna-"

"God damn it," he said, running a hand over his jaw. "I didn't mean for this to happen." He stood up, agitated, and walked back to the bar to pour himself another drink with uncertain hands. "Why didn't you tell me, angel?"

"Because I don't fucking trust-" she began to giggle, laughter spilling out of her mouth. "Don't fucking trust you. And see? I was right."

He sighed, irritated. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, turning back towards her. "But – hell, it's too late now. Can't let it change anything." He watched her out of the corner of his eye. "This wasn't the plan, angel."

Her smile faded slowly. "So," she said. "Finally made your move, huh? Figured you could run this place alone? How much did you give me?"

"Not enough to kill you." He smiled sadly. "Couldn't do that to ya."

She tried to raise an eyebrow. "What's this about then?"

"Some old friends of yours," he said. "I always warned you about letting them cut in on our action, but you insisted."

She had a sudden flash of memory, him standing outside the 38 back when it was still a dusty, dark tomb, the sunlight bright on his face as he spoke to her. "NCR," she croaked, more of a statement than a question. "You know their money ain't worth shit."

"It ain't their money I'm after." He blew a cloud of smoke up into the air. "Their end of the bargain is already out of the way."

"So – what'd you sell me for?"

He began to walk back towards her. "You were the prize, angel."

She blinked at him, waiting for him to keep going.

"NCR's overcommitted, see," he explained. "The quarry; the farms; McCarran; the Dam. They've pulled back a lot, but they're still spending far more than they want to for no return."

"So why not just fucking leave?" she asked. "Door's that way." She glanced towards the west, the only indication she could make.

"I understand Kimball's taken a hit with the support of the people lately," he said. "What he wants is an easy out – he gets to pull all his men out of the Mojave without looking like he's given up - and securing a nominal victory at the same time."

"Why?" she asked. "What? I don't get it."

"Let me break this down for you, angel," he said, walking to the window. "Vegas gets the Dam. The NCR gets you."

She felt a shiver work its way up her spine. "That was your deal?" she asked. "You set me up? But – you killed people at the Dam."

"Collateral damage. Acceptable losses. You know." He shrugged a shoulder. "Obviously the brass wasn't going to give everyone a run-down of the plan ahead of schedule. Loose lips, you know what I'm talking about?"

Verity's eyes were wide. "They – they _knew?_ All along?"

He nodded.

"And they didn't – I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," he said gently. "That's part of the problem we have here. You're not a politician, angel. A leader? Sure, maybe. A conqueror? Definitely. Someone who can make the hard decisions when it counts? No. No, I'm afraid not. You're far too soft a touch. The thing is – they need a bogeyman. Someone to blame for everything that's gone wrong the past two years. Longer, maybe. You're going to take responsibility. A figurehead."

"That's – that's fucking bullshit," she said.

"Yeah," agreed Benny, leaning his arms on the back of his chair. "It is. But it's what they need. And, coincidentally, what's best for our city."

Verity managed to glare. "'Our city,'" she repeated. "You're going to run this place into the ground," she said. "I suppose Yes Man's on board too?"

"Yes Man," said Benny. "Has not yet been informed of the change in situation. But I fully expect his support in this matter."

"'Course he'd side with you. Fucker's always been an asshole about things." She could feel her face going numb. "This isn't – this isn't fair."

"No," Benny said. "It's not. And I hate to do this to you, really – but… it's necessary."

She leaned her head back against the chair behind her. "You know what's fucked up?" she asked.

"Enlighten me."

"I still like you. I think you're just swell."

He sighed. "Oh, baby." He moved to stand behind her and brushed back her hair from her temple with his thumb. "I really messed something up in there, didn't I?"

Her head was spinning. "What if I'd stayed?" she asked. "The other night."

He crushed his cigarette beneath his shoe. "Then it would have made this decision a lot harder."

"You'd still have made it?"

"I don't know, angel," he said. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. This – isn't how I wanted things to end up."

"They don't have to end up like this," she said, desperation creeping into her tone.

Benny gave her that familiar grin. "You think I can walk away now? Leave you up here; come back in the morning when it's worn off and everything'll be back the way it used to? Oh, no, angel. The die is cast, if you don't mind me quoting an old enemy."

It was getting darker, but Verity couldn't tell if it was getting late or if her vision was fading. "It doesn't – look. We don't have to – to fight about this," she said. "It doesn't have to change anything. I suspect my memory's going to be – to be a little messed up anyway-"

"That's a risk I can't take," he said, smiling gently. "You know that. As much as I'd like to stay in touch. We just don't work together well, angel."

"Of course we do," she said. "We – complement each other. You need me."

He looked down at her. "I don't think I've ever loved anyone my whole life," he said. "But you might have come close."

She struggled to sit up, ineffectually. "Then don't fucking sell me, you cock-sucking piece of shit."

He sighed. "You're ruining a beautiful moment here, angel."

"Well fuck you," she said. "I'm not sticking to some bullshit script you have. What are they going to do to me?"

"I would imagine there would be some sort of trial," he said. "Probably public. But what happens after they find you guilty is anyone's guess."

"Are they going to kill me?" Her mouth was dry.

He sighed. "I don't know," he said, quietly. "How long have you been pregnant?"

"Few weeks," she said, beginning to slur her words. "I've known for like – a day though."

"Jesus." He shook his head. "You as a mom."

"You think I could take the kid – hunting lakelurks down on the beach?"

"Don't," he said, frowning. "This – this wasn't meant to happen." He ran a hand through his hair. "Well – not like this. Christ, I can't imagine you. You. With a kid."

"Don't bother," she said, curling her lip in a sneer. "If your plan works out, you'll never see it."

"Now, don't get sour," he said. "It's never looked good on you."

She narrowed her eyes. "I - I think, when I finally... when I finally make it back here again..." She took deep gulps of air in order to stay awake. "I won't even kill you."

"You're not coming back. Our friend has been very clear about that."

She smiled. "You really believe that? How many times have I beaten the odds now?"

"You're buying into your own myth, angel." He bent to kiss her on the forehead. "I'm sorry it had to be this way. I'll miss you. Truly. And if they hang you - I'll always remember you."

She could feel the unconsciousness tugging at her limbs, her eyes. Her head felt weightless and heavy at once. "Benny," she whispered, but she was gone before she could finish her sentence.


	60. Las Vegas

Ugh this was meant to be done hours ago, but I started playing Fallout 3 because I wanted to murder Amata for being a bitch and then I just KEPT PLAYING.

It was a good feeling though. I always play super-good characters because I'm dumb and feel bad for killing fake videogame pixel-people, so it was kind of interesting to not do that. It also helps that the character writing in New Vegas is so good I could barely see the Fallout 3 characters as human any more. :(

edit: whoops, mistake.

* * *

The ground was swaying back and forth. Like she was being rocked in a cradle. There was a rhythmic clacking noise somewhere in the background. Her throat and lips were parched, and the back of her throat had a bitter, metallic tang – she recognised that one from the chem steady. Her head was cloudy, but didn't hurt – it'd been a good thing she hadn't been drinking last night, because she'd have a hell of a-

She gasped, and was suddenly awake. It was so dark she could barely see, although slivers of light seemed to squeeze through cracks in the walls around her. She scrambled back, trying to sit up, but something caught around her wrists and jerked her back to the ground.

"No need to panic."

Verity couldn't see where the voice was coming from, her eyes darting around the darkness, heart pounding in her throat.

"Over here." It was a woman's voice; calm, bored even. A pool of light from a torch lit up one corner of the room. "Sorry about the digs. This is officially a cattle cart. Brahmin get spooked if they look out the window or something. Maybe 'cause of how fast they're going. Guess you're not used to economy class though."

Verity's eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark. "Who are you?" she asked shakily.

"Sergeant Marquez."

Verity could almost make out her lips moving in the dimness.

"I'm here to watch you. And that over there-" the torch beam swung over to the opposite corner, revealing a pair of boots. "-Is Sergeant Carter. He's here to watch _me_."

He was a large black shape in the darkness, the torch beam gone too early to see any more detail. "You really need two people to watch one little girl?" The wobble in Verity's voice betrayed her.

"No ma'am," said Marquez. "But two was all we could afford."

Verity almost smiled. She looked down. A pair of tight iron shackles encircled her wrists. A thick metal chain ran from her wrists to the floor, maybe three feet long. She was wearing what seemed to be a standard-issue shirt and trousers – she couldn't tell the colour in the darkness. She still had her pip-boy – it didn't look like anyone had figured out how to get it off – but that was all. They'd taken everything else. She clenched her jaw and looked back up.

"Where we going?" she asked.

"Don't know." Marquez shrugged. "Carter might. I don't. Need-to-know basis, see?"

"Not really."

"It's a military thing," said Marquez. "I guess. No weak links in the chain of command. You're a high-value person of interest – security's gotta be tight."

"No shit," she muttered.

"No shit at all, ma'am."

Verity tried to make out her features in the darkness. "Don't tell me we're going to old Shady Sands?" she suggested.

"I won't," said Marquez, lightly. "I meant it when I said I don't know. Hell, 'Shady Sands'. Haven't heard it called that in years. What kind of old books you been reading?"

"Makes sense, though, doesn't it?" asked Verity, ignoring her question. "Gonna go see the government. Unless you're just planning to take me out somewhere private and shoot me. But it seems like you could have got that over with already by now."

"Probably," Marquez agreed. In the other corner, Carter shifted his weight slightly.

Verity looked at him, still a large blur in the darkness. The train rattled onwards.

"Do you know how long it'll take?" Verity asked, after a minute or two.

"Afraid not," said Marquez. "I meant it when I said I don't know. We'll stop in certain places at secure locations. Overnight. For supplies. That sort of thing."

"What if I need to take a piss?" Verity's lip curled.

"We'll bring you a bucket."

"Fuck off."

"Sorry," shrugged Marquez. "It's not like we get anything better. Guess economy class is gonna take a little getting used to."

Verity sat back and glared into the darkness balefully.

* * *

Verity was in the same position, hours later, leaning against the wall of the carriage, cuffed hands in her lap. Sweat was trickling down the back of her neck, but she could barely muster the energy to either try and scratch her spine against the wall behind her or somehow wriggle around so she could reach her shackled hands behind her head.

The air was so hot she could barely stand to breathe it, taking shallow sips of air that barely kept her awake. She'd lost count of how many times she'd checked her pip-boy, scrolling through the screens – page after page of empty inventory. The map had long ago lost track of where she was going – the tracks must have been far enough away from major settlements to avoid picking up geographical data, although the scanner seemed to pick up, tantalizingly, man-made structures from time to time; corners and sharp edges and wide, flat paths carved out of the land. She couldn't even pick up any radio stations.

Carter stood silent in one corner; Marquez talked, at least, handed her bottles of lukewarm water when she asked – Verity had debated asking her to scratch her neck for her, but wasn't sure Carter would have allowed it. Somehow, without saying a word, he was able to communicate whenever he didn't approve, and they both fell into line. Verity was almost jealous.

The slivers of light shining into the cart had been dimming over the past hour. Verity was barely able to see. The darkness and the swaying and dull rattle of the train on the tracks was lulling her into a sort of foggy half-sleep, still a little woozy from the cocktail of drugs that had knocked her out.

She barely noticed when the train slowed down and came to a halt, but the gentle metallic clinking noise caused by Marquez unlocking her cuffs sent a surge of adrenaline through her body. She was suddenly awake, heart pounding and eyes wide, straining to see.

Marquez was holding her torch in her teeth while she worked the key into the lock, the beam unsteady. Verity clamped down on her instinct to shove the woman away and then make a break for it – she wasn't even sure where the door was; and while she didn't know what would happen if Carter caught her, she was almost certain she wouldn't enjoy it.

Still, her heart sank a little as Marquez slid some regular handcuffs onto her wrists and closed them tightly. The sergeant hooked an arm under Verity's and lifted her into a standing position. Carter opened the door.

The cool air that blew in was a welcome relief, chilling the sweat on Verity's skin. She walked, a little unsteadily, towards the door. The desert spread out before them, vast and featureless, a fading blue as evening drained into night. The moon was high above, spilling light onto the dusty earth; the low plants and dry bushes. There was a small concrete building nearby, with high, narrow windows that glowed cheerily in the dimness. It looked like an old supply building, or even a power substation, small and inconspicuous.

She had to lean on Marquez as she stepped down from the train, her legs wobbly and unsteady under her. To her surprise, the train was a long one, but no one was getting out of the other carriages.

"This it?" she asked.

"Driver has a sleeping cabin," said Marquez. "For security reasons."

Verity looked up and down the deserted line. "No one else getting off?" she asked.

"Guess not." Marquez smiled.

The walk to the building was over too soon. Verity stared at the door as it closed. The interior was painted a sickly pale yellow, directly over the concrete blocks, a thin layer over each ridge and pit.

A soldier at a tiny desk nodded at them. "In there," he said, indicating a small barred cell, just a corner of the room fenced off with steel. It looked barely big enough to lie down in, with a small cot and a sink. At the other end of the room there was a door.

For the first time she could actually see Marquez and Carter. Marquez looked pretty much like the image Verity had built up in her mind – on the tall side; thick dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail; ; olive skin; and quick brown eyes. Carter, though – he'd been a featureless blob in her head; built like a fridge and possibly not even human – but reality was just as eerie. He almost looked like a supermutant. He was well over six foot, rippling with muscle and terrifying as hell – but still human. Suntanned skin and a shaved head. His NCR uniform must have been custom-made.

Marquez caught her eye and grinned. "Makes an impression, doesn't he?"

Verity didn't fight as she was led into the tiny cell. "That's the level of person assigned to watch me?" she asked. "What can _you_ do, strangle a man with your thighs?"

"High value person of interest," Marquez said again, with a grin. "We're not allowed guns, see? Gotta have something special up our sleeves."

"Not allowed guns?" Verity was intrigued. "Why not?"

Marquez smiled faintly. "In case you get hold of them. I'm not a good enough shot to shoot a gun out of your hands, and – well, they want you alive."

Verity sighed. "Great," she said. "That's reassuring."

"I'll take first watch," said Marquez, to the soldier at the desk. "You and Carter get some sleep, I'll wake you up in a few hours."

He gave her a sidelong look, but followed the huge man to the back room and closed the door behind them.

"So what are we gonna do, braid each others' hair?" asked Verity. "Paint each others' toenails, maybe?"

"Was thinking I could get you some food," said Marquez, opening a cupboard. "The train doesn't really have a dining car. Sorry about that."

Verity's mouth began to water at the thought.

"We don't have much in the way of fine cuisine," said the sergeant, handing an MRE through the bars. "That's gonna have to do."

Verity opened it and took out the pouches inside. "How the fuck does this work?"

"There's instructions on – never mind, let me do it." Marquez took the packet back, half-filled one pouch with water and dropped the other pouch into it. She shook it gently, then laid it against the lamp on the desk. "Ten minutes," she said.

Verity sat down on the tiny bed. She'd have to sleep with her legs curled up. She pushed her shoes off, one by one. The shirt she was wearing didn't fit her well, and itched. Something was oddly familiar about it, though. Verity craned to see over her shoulder. There were letters, stencilled on the back of her shirt.

NCRCF.

Her blood ran cold. "I'm not a criminal," she said, barely able to force the words out.

Marquez raised an eyebrow. "Some may dispute that. That's kind of the reason we're all here, isn't it?"

"I'm not-" she moved to the front of the cage and clutched at the bars. They were cold under her fingers. "I didn't start this bullshit."

Marquez leaned back against the wall. "But you made sure to finish it."

Verity leaned forward so her face was almost touching the bars. "I fucking had to," she snarled. "I didn't have any choice."

"There's always another choice."

"Yeah, like watch my city fall apart piece by piece so scavengers can come in and pick up what's left."

"Who made it 'your city'?" Marquez was watching her with narrowed eyes.

"_I_ made it my city," Verity growled.

"Exactly," said Marquez, flatly.

"And what's wrong with that? There aren't any fucking laws about taking over a city in no one's fucking territory. I'm not a _fucking_ criminal."

"Taking the Dam was an act of war," said Marquez. "Far as I understand, anyway."

"That doesn't make me a criminal in the NCR."

"It's a war crime, isn't it?" Marquez asked. "I'm not much of a law expert, though."

"I'm not a fucking _war_ criminal either," Verity spat. "This is fucking bullshit."

"You messed up a lot of things for us out there." Marquez's eyes were glittering.

"Far as I could tell, you were doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

Marquez turned away. "I shouldn't be talking to you," she said. "Not about this, anyway. Here." She opened up the MRE packet again and handed the pouch inside it to Verity, along with a plastic spoon. It was warm.

She tore it open. It seemed to be some kind of stew, and was surprisingly good. She wolfed it down so fast she almost felt ill when she'd finished.

Marquez was still watching her, almost curiously.

"So it's going to be lights off all day, lights on all night?" asked Verity. "I'm going to have to complain to management."

"How about I write you a letter of apology?" Marquez offered.

"It's a step in the right direction," said Verity. She lay down on the bed and turned to face the wall. The urge to open up her pip-boy again was almost overwhelming; to read and re-read all the notes she'd taken since it had been given to her, anything to remind her of home. Her city. Well. Not her city any more.


	61. Viva Las Vegas

Marquez is one of those characters that kind of asserts themselves independently of what you were actually intending.

Also, I wanted to say thank you to "green is not a creative color" who commented on my second to last chapter and was really nice! I forgot to mention it in my last author notes. Sorry for blanking you!

* * *

The walls of the small open courtyard were high and bleached-bone white, almost blinding in the light of the midday sun. Her hands were bound tightly behind her. A soldier, walking up to her, offered her a blindfold. She shook her head impatiently. A door opened, and out filed First Recon. Gorobets, Betsy, Bitter Root, Sterling. Boone. She stared at him, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Aim!"

The soldiers lifted their rifles.

With a whimper, she woke up, curled into a ball on the canvas mattress of the bed. She bit down on her lip savagely, trying to stifle any further sounds.

"You okay?" Marquez's voice.

Verity grimaced. "Yeah," she said, tersely. She unfurled herself, uncomfortably, and turned away from the wall, stretching her stiff muscles.

"Bad dream?"

"Fuck off," Verity said, unenthusiastically.

"Get up on the wrong side of bed this morning?" Marquez handed her a plastic bowl of lukewarm sludge.

"How long is this going to take?" asked Verity, again.

"No idea," said Marquez cheerfully.

"What's your first name?" Verity cocked her head. "I like knowing people's first names. If we're gonna be friends."

Marquez grinned. "Can't tell you that."

Verity leaned against the bars of her cage, still spooning the MRE sludge into her mouth. "I'm gonna call you Dolly," she said, between bites. "Is that okay with you?"

"Don't call me 'Dolly'," said Marquez.

"What's your real name then?"

Marquez levelled a glare at her. "_Marquez_," she said. "I ain't gonna answer to 'Dolly'. Hurry up with that, we gotta leave."

* * *

This time Verity was awake when they shackled her to the floor. She held out her wrists obediently. Sergeant Carter was already in place, blocking the door. It was just before sunrise. She hadn't seen the sun in almost two days. She'd just been sitting against the wall, watching the darkness.

The train began to pick up speed, the old carriage rattling. Maybe the floor was in bad enough condition to let her rip the fastening pin out of the floor. And then, obviously, she'd jump through the wall, somehow land perfectly, and run back to New Vegas with her hands chained together with no weapons, and no food. She rolled her eyes. Her escape plans were stupid. Pointless.

Verity's eyes were getting used to the darkness. She could make out most of Marquez's features. "You ever been to the Mojave?" she asked.

"Nope," said Marquez. "That was one of the criteria for this assignment. Couldn't have lived there; couldn't have been stationed there."

Verity blinked. "Really?" she said. "How come?"

"Guess they didn't want anyone who'd worked with you," said Marquez.

"Because then they'd sympathise," Verity said scornfully. "Is that it? No one I'd ever saved from being blown up or cut down from crosses?"

Marquez took a while to answer. "I don't know," she said, abruptly. "Orders are orders."

"What other criteria were there?" she asked half-heartedly, more to fill the silence than anything.

"Had to be capable of defending ourselves without weapons, but I told you that one. Available at short notice, no dependents, have to be okay with getting recalled if it's necessary – because of security reasons."

"For fuck's sake," said Verity.

"I think they were expecting you to put up more of a fight, to be honest," said Marquez. "I'm a little surprised myself."

Verity closed her eyes. "Just waiting for the right moment," she said, only half-joking. "Though I can punch you in the face now if that's what you're into."

"Maybe after Carter goes to sleep."

Verity smiled.

"I can understand why the NCR wouldn't send anyone who knows you," continued Marquez. "You did seem like you were on our side for a long time."

Verity was silent. Marquez was right. She'd come so close to turning over everything to the NCR and just taking off. It would have been easier that way. Maybe better for everyone. What would she be doing now? Still running across the wasteland delivering packages? Or maybe she and Boone could have-

She clamped down on the thought before she could finish it. "Things – didn't really turn out the way they were meant to," she said.

"What went wrong?"

Verity narrowed her eyes. "They want me to talk to you," she said. "Don't they? To open up. I just don't get why. To tell you how I did it? Where the NCR went wrong? I don't have any secrets."

Marquez smiled faintly. "I heard you had _one_."

Verity wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Really."

"Mm-hmm. I guess I should offer my congratulations. That'd be the polite thing to do."

Verity leaned her head back against the wall. "Good news travels fast, huh?"

"Who's the lucky father?"

Verity shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know."

"That slimy asshole you work with?"

"Well, thanks for the mental image of a slimy asshole," she said. "But it's like I said. Don't know."

"You had a thing with one of our boys, didn't you?" asked Marquez.

If Boone wasn't caught up in all of this already, she didn't want to drag him into it. Verity kept her face blank, and carefully swallowed the lump in her throat. "Not for a while."

"Sounds complicated."

"Is it?" Verity asked, narrowing her eyes irritably. "I mean – you're just going to execute me, right? After some big public trial. That's how I see this going down."

Marquez frowned. "Well – not while you're pregnant, surely."

"Why not?" She crossed her ankles. "It'd be a lot quicker and easier. Get rid of me for good, solve any… problems before they arise. Just hushing up the whole 'baby' thing would probably work out well for you. That depends on how well your military keeps secrets."

"The NCR wouldn't let that happen."

Verity sighed. "Sure it would. NCR's real big on making everything look legit. Like with the Dam. You don't think that was all me, do you? That was planned. NCR cut the power so much we couldn't run the city, then handed over the Dam in exchange for me, so they could pull out and still look good. I got sold out."

"Bullshit."

"It's a show for the public," Verity continued. "How's Kimball's popularity doing at the moment?"

Marquez didn't answer.

"In a bit of a slump? Needs something for the election season?" Verity asked.

"It's not like that."

"Sure it isn't," she said. "How's Oliver, by the way? And Moore, I always wondered about what happened to her. And Colonel Hsu."

"Hsu got sent up north," she said, reluctantly. "Trouble with some raiders. I don't know what Moore is doing. Oliver's – well. Getting into politics."

"And how's that been going for him?"

Marquez sighed. "The military doesn't support him as much as he thinks it does," she said. "And his opponents are bringing it up more and more lately."

Verity grinned. "Are you even allowed to tell me this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, this is some confidential shit, right?"

Marquez snorted. "Hardly. Pretty much everyone in the NCR army knows all of this."

"Loose lips don't sink ships any more?"

"Well-" Marquez shifted her shoulders. "It's mostly released to the media. They like personalities to lead campaigns with, see? Hsu is popular. Moore – not so much."

"Why ever could that be?" asked Verity, flatly.

"Yeah, she doesn't come across well on film. Or in person. Hell of a leader, though. She knows how to make the tough decisions."

Verity sighed. "Yeah," she said. "I met her a couple times. She's – well. Dedicated."

"She's a patriot," Marquez agreed.

"She's kind of a psychopath."

"Her methods…" began Marquez, but she didn't seem to be able to finish the sentence.

"Yeah," agreed Verity. "That's it."

Marquez didn't answer. Verity leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

The journey went on; hours blending into each other, marked only by the ebb and flow of the light coming in through the cracks.

It was after sunset when they stopped at the next station. The rooms were almost identical to the last stop.

Verity let them lead her inside the tiny cell, and sat down heavily on the mattress. She'd been looking for an opportunity to escape, but – there wasn't one. Monitored every second of the day, her two guards watching her and each other. Surely it couldn't be much longer until they'd reached their destination. Maybe a day, maybe two. Three? At the outside? She wasn't sure if she was being too optimistic. Her limbs were getting restless with the lack of exercise, no matter how much she stretched them out.

She was aware that it would be a lot harder to escape once they got her to a proper prison. And that was probably when the publicity machine would start up. She wondered if they'd let cameras into the prison. The thought of being cornered by a crowd of journalists, camera-bulbs flashing as they jostled for position, brought a snarl to her face.

She couldn't let it come to that.

There was a quiet tap on the outside door. Marquez looked up, startled. She looked at Verity; to the door to the back room, then stood to open the door.

A blonde woman in an NCR uniform walked in, her face sombre. "This is no longer a secure location," she said. "We need to move the prisoner. I'm going to have to take her off your hands."

Marquez's eyes narrowed. "We've been compromised?"

"Yes. Anyone here should clear out, we're expecting a hit within an hour. I can't give you any more details than that. You know the drill."

Verity's pulse quickened. Someone was here. Someone was looking for her.

"Got it," said Marquez, sounding slightly disappointed. "You got the paperwork?"

The blonde handed over a sheaf of papers.

Marquez gave it a cursory scan. "Huh," she said, opening Verity's cell. "Guess this is the end of the line for us. It was sure nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you again someday."

"You think I'll get guest tickets to my execution?" Verity asked, trying to keep her voice level. "Friends and family? I'm going to send you some front-row seats."

"Shit," said Marquez, waving a hand. "They ain't gonna kill you."

"I think they might," said Verity.

"You've been cuffing her in front?" the blonde soldier asked. "Jesus Christ."

"Hey," said Marquez. "She's a low threat prisoner. Even if she's high value."

The soldier shrugged. "Whatever," she said. "I guess it's okay for now."

Verity stared at the door as if it would burst open any moment. She couldn't even imagine who would be coming for her. Gabe? She almost laughed. Ronnie? The King? She didn't have that many allies left.

Marquez took off her handcuffs, and for a moment Verity considered making a break for it, shoving both women out of her way and taking off into the desert. How long would she live? No guns, no water, no food. Assuming someone didn't shoot her as she tried to run. She could live off the land, maybe, but how long could she last? Wouldn't it be better to die free than at the hands of the NCR?

The soldier seemed to feel her tension, and closed the cuffs around her wrists tightly.

That was it. Maybe her last chance to escape, gone.

"Seriously," said the soldier to Marquez. "Unless you're planning on making a last stand, you need to get out of here. Get that train moving."

"Thanks for the warning," said Marquez. She turned to Verity. "See ya, kid."

"Stay in touch," replied Verity, a half smile on her face. "Dolly."

Marquez laughed.

The blonde soldier opened the door. The desert outside was white and cold, as if it were covered in snow. There was an army truck waiting, over the railroad tracks, with a flatbed covered by a canopy. She could make out the words "US ARMY" and a faint white star painted on the side in the moonlight.

Verity raised an eyebrow. "Spared no expense, huh?" she asked. "I don't even fucking remember the last time I was in something with wheels. Maybe I haven't ever been."

"Get in the back," said the soldier tersely.

"Where are we?" asked Verity.

"South of New Reno. Get in."

Awkwardly, Verity clasped the handholds with her cuffed hands and pulled herself into the back of the truck. Someone was holding a torch to light her way. There were two people sitting on the seats that lined both sides of the truck's flatbed.

Behind her, the soldier slapped her hand twice against the truck and hopped in.

She unlocked Verity's hands and handed her a bundle of fabric, coarse under her fingertips.

"What?" Verity asked. "What the fuck is-"

"Put it on." The voice was familiar.

Her head jerked towards the speaker. "B-Betsy?" she asked, incredulous. "I – what?" She looked down at the bundle in her arms. It was an NCR uniform.

"Verity?"

Another familiar voice. She froze where she stood, half-bent over so as not to hit her head on the canopy above.

"Let's _go_!" yelled the blonde.

The truck rumbled to life.

"Sit down," said Betsy, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her onto the seat that ran along the sides of the vehicle. "They treat you okay?"

Verity couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. All she could do was stare, wordlessly, at the man sitting across from her.

It was Boone.


	62. Viva, Viva Las Vegas

Couple things:

1. I have figured out how to end this story, FINALLY. Well, mostly. It does involve learning about the American Civil War though, because I like to make things hard for myself.  
2. I have a new Elvis song to change to for next chapter! (Also related to the civil war.)  
3. I let myself go a little wild in this chapter with dialogue and melodrama. (Should totally be writing for soap operas.) Will be back on the leash for the next, though.

* * *

She stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

Boone leaned forward, concern furrowing his brow. "Did they hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, no, they- they didn't," she stammered. "I'm – are you-"

His face softened. "Come here," he said, barely audible over the rumble of the engine, and she half-stumbled, half-fell across the aisle into his arms.

He pulled her close to him, one hand curled around the back of her head, fingers clutching a fistful of her hair; the other around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her temple. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his uniform, brushed against the roughness of his stubble.

With a cool sidelong stare, the blonde soldier shuffled down the bench to make room for her next to Boone.

She managed to tear her eyes away from him for a moment. She felt half like she'd just huffed a canister of Jet, and half like she was about to burst into tears at any moment. "Holy shit," she said. "You fucking guys."

Betsy grinned. "Seriously," she said. "Put that uniform on already. If we get spotted – which isn't likely, but still – and we get found with you in the back, this rescue's gonna be over before it's even started."

Verity struggled into the jacket – it was several sizes too big for her, which meant that it could go on easily over her prisoners shirt – and wriggled her legs into the pants. "Who's driving this thing?" she asked.

"Ten of Spades!" said Betsy. "I think we might promote him to Jack if we get out of this mess, because our CO sure ain't going to."

Verity straightened up, running a hand through her hair to pull it back off her face. "How the fuck did you guys find me?"

Betsy shrugged a shoulder, casting shadows on the green canvas behind her as the torch she was holding dipped. "Nothing like the military for spreading rumours. Chuck here has a few contacts, managed to figure out where you were going to be and when."

"Chuck?" Verity looked in the direction Betsy had indicated.

"It's Charlie," said the blonde soldier tersely.

Verity narrowed her eyes a fraction. "Okay," she said, carefully.

Charlie turned her head away.

Verity turned back to Betsy. "And so – what, you took a truck and just headed straight out?" she asked.

Betsy shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much. Chuck picked up a copy of the transfer paperwork somehow, and there were some timing issues we had to iron out, but that's pretty much what our plan boiled down to.

"You guys," said Verity, "have some motherfucking balls."

Betsy grinned. "Hell yeah we do."

"So what's left of the team?" Verity asked.

"Not much." Betsy stretched her legs out. "We didn't exactly invite everyone, you know? Let's see – Bitter-Root we didn't ask – he's loyal as hell to the NCR. Gorobets is retired, now, actually. He took a bullet to the knee in a skirmish a few months back, and didn't want to get put on guard duty, so took his cheque and walked. Sterling's probably wondering where we are by now, though." She grinned.

"So – what happens now?" asked Verity. "Where are we going?"

There was a momentary hush.

"That," said Betsy finally, "is an interesting question."

"Got maybe twelve hours at the outside," said Boone. "Before they come after us. If we're lucky. If not – they're after us already."

"If they catch up with us, we're fucked," said Charlie flatly. "The best we could hope for is that we all die in the firefight. Because they won't be sending one or two people, they'll be sending a platoon. Probably ranger-trained, too."

"So – we stay off the roads?" suggested Verity.

"As far as that's possible," said Betsy. "There's a lot of desert out there, and not much cover this side of the mountains. Depends who gets lucky; them or us. If they get the Vertibirds involved – well, that could go either way. It's a huge area to search, but like I said – if they get lucky…"

Verity looked back at the way they'd come, the light from the tiny office barely visible in the distance. They hadn't got the train moving yet.

"We're just gonna get as far as we can tonight," continued Betsy. "No big decisions necessary right now; we can sort those out in the morning."

"I had a dream about you guys," said Verity quietly.

"Knew we were coming?" asked Betsy. "Should have been ready to welcome us, then. Dressed up a little."

Verity laughed, self-consciously raising a hand to her hair – it had been days since she'd had a proper wash. "No, you were going to kill me."

"Huh," said Betsy. "Well, never say never. Haven't gotten you out of this yet."

Verity grinned at her, and watched the desert spread out in their wake under the pale glow of the moon.

* * *

They finally stopped for the night a few hours before dawn, tucked into the shelter of a small valley between two low hills. It wasn't much of a hiding place, but green scrub covered the hillsides, and the truck wouldn't stand out from a distance.

Verity hopped out of the truck, stretching her legs painfully. She'd been sitting down for so much of the past few days that her legs were shaky when she tried to put weight on them.

She heard the driver's side door slam, and a moment later, Ten of Spades came around the side of the truck.

"H-hey," he said. "So, what'd you think?" She could hear the grin in his voice, though his face was mostly hidden by the cloth over his face.

"Fucking incredible," she admitted. "I kind of still can't believe it. Any of this."

"P-pretty good, huh?" he said. "I kind of feel like we pulled some am-amazing prank. Guess it's a little m-more serious than that, though."

"Shit," she said. "Yes. Um. Thank you."

"Not a problem, ma'am."

The others began throwing out bags from the back of the truck, and setting up beige canvas tents.

"So, you gonna let me drive this thing tomorrow?" She grinned.

Ten caught one that Betsy had lobbed at him and began unrolling the canvas. "You know how to d-drive?"

"Don't think I've tried," she said. "So, probably not."

"I don't think w-we have time to teach you right now," he said. "You might have to sit this one out. Sorry."

"I guess if we get out of this you guys'll have a lot of free time, right?" she said.

"That's true!" he said. "Though b-by then your free time might have dropped off a bit. It's a trade-off."

"That's a good point," she said weakly. "Not sure how that's going to go down yet."

He took a break from hammering in a tent peg to look up at her. "Don't w-worry about that now," he said. "First things first."

"Guess you're right," she said.

* * *

It wasn't safe to have a fire, so the soldiers dragged out a crate of MREs they'd apparently lifted wholesale from an NCR storage point, and handed them out to take back to their tents. It had been the first time Verity had been able to use the heater herself. She was fascinated.

"How the fuck does it work?" she asked, squeezing the packet gently. "It's warm! And you just put water in it. Like, regular water. And it makes it warm."

Boone shrugged a shoulder. It was cramped inside the tent – it was technically a two-man tent, but there wasn't much room even so. "Chemicals."

"This is fucking weird," she said.

"Guess so."

"I still kind of can't believe you're here." She smiled anxiously. "I guess I wasn't expecting to see you again. After what happened. I thought you were going to head straight out and tell the NCR."

He took a deep breath and then exhaled sharply. "Yeah," he said. "I did."

When she didn't respond, he continued.

"I took the monorail over to McCarran, walked into the commander's office, and told him you were planning on taking the Dam. He said 'thanks for the intel, we'll take care of it from here,' and didn't do one goddamn thing about it." He looked down.

"Guess that's why they didn't pull you in before they picked me up," she said. "Knew where your loyalties lay."

His head jerked up, his green eyes stricken. "Verity – I didn't – I couldn't-"

She sighed. "No, it's – I'm sorry. I know what the army means to you. You did – what you thought was best. I had to tell you, though."

"Just – wanted to do the right thing," he said. "Guess that wasn't it."

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "So what changed your mind? Why not let them keep me?"

"It wasn't your plan," he said, unable to look at her. "It was theirs."

She wanted to reach out to him, but forced herself to keep her hands where they were.

"They knew," he said, quietly. "That was what they wanted you to do the whole time. Because it would – look better. Because that's what suited them."

"I didn't really want things to end up this way," she said. "That'd be my fault, though. Didn't apply pressure in the right places when I needed to. Ignored everyone else when they were telling me what the best thing to do was."

"You can't know what's going to happen."

She smiled ruefully. "Well, I ignored all the mathematically modelled shit from that damn robot," she said. "Jesus. It's been a hell of a year."

"Sure has." He looked up at her, his eyes troubled. "I – Verity. You're – I heard-"

"Ah," she said. "Yes. Lot to catch up on." She smiled humourlessly.

"I just need to ask," said Boone. "Is it – is it mine?"

The smile faded from her face. She pressed her lips together, and climbed to her feet.

"Look - thanks for the rescue," she said, picking up Boone's anti-materiel rifle. "I'm gonna walk home from here."

He caught her wrist, but loosened his grip as she turned the force of her glare towards him. "Don't-" he began, but she ripped her hand out of his grasp.

"Of course it's yours," she spat. "I don't fuck anyone else."

"I haven't seen you in-"

"I don't give a shit," she hissed. "No, I haven't been fucking everyone who looks at me twice. Fuck you. Is that the only reason you fucking rescued me?"

"No," he said. "I'm – sorry. It's – this is important to me."

The anger drained out of her. "Y-yeah," she said, feeling guilty. "That's – okay." She sat down beside him. "Shit. This is all just new, and scary, and – I just have no idea how to even feel about this. I've known for maybe a week?"

He nodded, a barely perceptible movement. "What were you going to do?" he asked quietly.

She took a shaky breath. "I hadn't really figured that bit out yet," she said. "I guess – if all of this hadn't happened, and you were still – gone, then I'd probably just have headed back to the Big Empty and – and had the auto-doc take care of the problem for me." She wrapped her arms around herself.

Boone was silent for a long time. "Is that still what you want?"

She turned to look up at him. "I don't fucking _know_," she said. "Nothing makes sense at the moment. I can't even figure out what I'm going to be doing next week, let alone in like, six months' time."

Boone nodded again, tightly. "Okay." His jaw was tense; the tendons in his neck standing out under the skin.

"I just – don't know what to do about it. Can't do anything right now, anyway. Middle of nowhere, uh – uncertain prospects about how to get home or what'll happen once we're back."

"Yeah," he said.

"There's – something else," she said. "I – I want to say sorry. For something."

Boone looked up.

"Back when we started travelling together, I –" she broke off, took a deep breath, and started again. "When things first started… happening. With us. I think that I shouldn't have done that."

His brow furrowed."You don't want to-"

"No!" she said. "That's not what I mean. Well, it kind of is. I just – I think I pushed you too hard."

"I don't understand."

She clenched her fingers into fists, and took a deep breath before she started. "It had – been a really hard time for you," she said. "There was a lot of stuff going on, and – I was selfish, and I wanted you to – to be something I don't know if you were ready for."

He watched her quietly, his green eyes unreadable.

"I knew it hadn't been that long since – since Carla," she continued. "And you trusted me. Maybe thought you owed me something, for helping you with Jeannie May, and then what happened at Bitter Springs, and… I think I took advantage of that trust."

"You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to," he said.

A smile flickered over her face, but was gone almost immediately. "I don't mean I forced you into it, but… I feel like you were just – lost. Looking for something to follow. And then I stepped into that role, and then – abused the position. Used it to get what I want, even if it wasn't the best thing for you. Because I was just thinking about myself."

Boone took her hand in his. "You gave me something to live for."

"That's what I mean," exclaimed Verity, curling her fingers tightly around him. "You were in a vulnerable state. And I just – didn't pay any attention to that, and kept going full steam ahead, to get what I wanted. And I shouldn't have. I really shouldn't have." She looked down at the thin canvas floor under her legs. She could feel Boone's eyes on her, but didn't quite trust herself to look at him.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he said.

"I don't either," she said, with a hint of desperation. "But – I don't want you to feel like you're trapped, or you have an obligation to stay with me and protect me. Because you don't. You don't owe me anything."

The silence went on for so long she couldn't bear it, and she risked a glance up.

Boone was leaning forward, watching her intently. "Do you want this to end?" he asked. "If you do, just say it. I'll take you back home, make sure you're safe, and – I don't know what we'll do about the baby, but-"

"No!" she said quickly. "Jesus. No. I don't." She picked up his hand in hers, rough and callused and warm under her fingers. "I don't know if we're always good for each other, but – I don't even want to think about life without you. When you left, I-" She broke off, unable to continue.

Boone wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned against him gratefully, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating. She smiled.

"I'm here as long as you want me," he said. "Come on. It's late. You need to get some rest."

They laid their bedrolls together in the middle of the tent, and covered themselves with blankets. Being able to stretch out so much to sleep seemed like a luxury.

"Would they have killed me?" she asked, quietly, once they were settled in.

He took a while to respond. "I don't know," he said "Maybe."

"Would it be broadcast? I always wanted to be a star."

"Don't," he said. "Don't joke about it. It doesn't matter anymore. You're here, and you're safe." He paused. "I couldn't let them have you, Verity," he said. "Not like this."

There was something in his tone that made her pause. Like what? Miles from home in enemy territory? Alone and helpless and made into a spectacle? Pregnant and-

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was the same, almost. They'd come full circle. She was _Carla_, pregnant and lost and held captive, the one he wished he could save but could only offer a way out instead.

But this time he'd done it, plucked her from her captor's hands before she could have her day on the auction block, thousands of eyes watching her.

She was frozen; motionless in his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked, half-asleep.

With some effort, she forced herself to begin breathing again. "Nothing," she said, unsteadily. "Nothing."

He kissed the back of her head sleepily. "Okay," he said. "Goodnight."


	63. Oh I Wish I Was In the Land of Cotton

SEVERAL HOURS LATE HOW TERRIBLE OF ME.

I do want to say something about this chapter title: This is the first line of _An American Trilogy,_ which kind of incorporates a few elements I'm not too comfortable with (although this arrangement tends to minimise them). Popularised by Elvis because I'm obsessed with carrying musical themes; relevant to Civil War (am I in way over my head? Probably); not particularly relevant geographically - but we're going to work through that.

Also this week I gave myself a black eye while failing to get out of my car. What.

Edit: Death Valley and the Funeral Mountains actually exist btw! I spent a long time driving around on Google Maps (sigh)

* * *

Verity woke up alone. It was light outside, and for a moment she imagined she wasn't running for her life, just lying, half-dozing, somewhere quiet and safe. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

The canvas rippled in the breeze.

There were low voices outside. Verity dressed quickly. The material of the NCR uniform was stiff and itchy against her skin, but it was preferable to wearing clothes that marked her as an NCR prisoner. She crawled out of the tent. The sun was warm, and the sky was blue from east to west. For the first time she could see the land, and dry and baked golden by the sun; scrubby bush and low ground cover here and there, scattered over the landscape like ash from a fire. In the daylight she could see the sloping mountain ranges in the distance, and as she looked back at the way they had come, the thin crumbling thread of the road winding through the dust.

Most of the gear from the previous night's camp had been packed up.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," said Betsy. "Finally decided to join us?"

Betsy and Ten of Spades were bent over a map, spread out on the ground to cover a good few square feet. Verity crouched next to them.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Death Valley," said Ten, pointing to a patch of green on the map. "Sounds like we're safe here, huh?"

She looked around. She couldn't see so much as a gecko. "Alright. Uh – why do they call it that?"

He shrugged. "At a guess – b-because it's huge and dry and if you got stuck out here you'd die?"

"Fuck," she said. "We have enough – whatever trucks run on, right?"

"It was looking a l-little low last time I checked," admitted Ten.

Verity's eyes widened. "It – is?"

"Gotcha!" he said. "H-hell, do you think we'd plan everything else and forget to take along some extra microfusion cells?"

Verity laughed, a little embarrassed. "I was just worried at the idea of having to spend the next year with you as we walk out of this place," she said. "Or, alternately, the rest of my life as we fail to make it anywhere and die out here."

"Who d-do you think we'd eat first?" he asked. "Betsy, watch your mouth."

Betsy laughed and stood up, helping the others to pack away what was left.

Verity grimaced. "Probably me?" she said. "Desk job for the last year. Well. On and off." She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. "And, I'm probably the easiest to subdue, because all of you've been in the army for years."

"Well then," said Ten. "You've s-sold me. You're number one on my l-l-list."

"List for what?" Boone, walking past with a bag in his hand, stopped to listen.

"Who we eat first," said Verity, glumly. "You'd probably be last. Too gamey. Little on the rugged side."

"That a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked.

"Well," she said. "That depends on what I want to do to you at any given time."

"Get a room!" hollered Betsy, still packing things into the truck. "Or better still, get moving. We don't have time to wait around."

"Just be a minute," said Verity. She crouched and picked up a handful of gritty sand, and tipped it over her own head. She began to work it into the roots of her hair.

"Haven't seen you do that for more than a year," said Boone quietly, a faint smile on his face.

She wrinkled her nose. "My hair's too long for it, really," she said. "At the moment. It really only works when it's shorter. I just hate it being greasy." She began to rake through her hair with her short fingernails, scraping the clumps of sand back out.

"You could shave the lot off," suggested Betsy. "Makes getting ready a hell of a lot faster. And it's a lot cooler in this heat, too."

"If I had your bone structure I'd consider it," said Verity, grinning. She ran her hands through her hair a few more times, then stood up.

"Ah, shit," said Betsy. "You could pull it off. You'd be cute."

"If we're stuck out here for much longer I'll fuckin' consider it," she said. "Ugh. I'd forgotten how gross it gets."

The last few things were loaded into the truck. Boone took a last look around the site to make sure they hadn't left any signs of having stayed there behind; scuffing over the lines in the sand where they'd pitched their tents. It wasn't even 10 in the morning, but the sun was beginning to sizzle, heat falling like a blanket over the desert.

Ten was sitting in the cab of the truck, listening to radio chatter.

"Anything?" asked Boone.

"They know we're out here," he said grimly. "Know where we're heading. Don't know where."

"Best we could hope for," said Boone.

Ten grimaced. "Prefer it if they d-didn't know our route, though."

"We're staying off the roads as much as we can," replied Boone.

"Yeah," said Ten. "but we're going to have t-to more-or-less follow the roads through the mountains today."

"We'll keep watch." Boone said. "Not much more we can do. Any birds?"

"Not on this channel," said Ten. "But then again, they know we're listening."

Boone grunted in agreement. "We should head off."

"Roger that."

They climbed into the back of the truck, boots clunking heavily against the metal floor. The canvas roof overhead blocked out a lot of the heat of the sun, but also prevented any air from moving through it. It was sweltering already.

"Where are we going?" asked Verity.

Betsy and Boone shared a glance. "We thought you'd want to go back to New Vegas," said Boone.

She sighed. "Yeah," she said. "I guess. I don't know, I've been thinking a lot about it lately. Maybe – maybe I'm just not the right person. Not the person the city needs." She watched the desert stretch out behind the car, twin plumes of dust rising in the tracks left behind them. She could start again, somewhere new. Somewhere where no one knew her; no one expected anything from her; nothing she had to be or do.

And really, was Benny running the city even such a bad thing? He certainly hadn't run it into the ground any of the times she'd been away – well, the last time she'd returned things had been pretty dire, but if that had all been a setup to get rid of her anyway, then maybe if-

Charlie cleared her throat. "I hate to bring this up," she said flatly. "But our continued existence is dependent on finding a government that isn't going to execute us. If we can't stop in New Vegas, we're just going to have to keep running."

Verity blinked at her. "O-oh," she said. "Okay. Yeah, that – that makes sense. Guess we don't have a choice then." She could feel heat rising to her face. Of course. What had she been expecting, the ex-members of First Recon to drop her in Vegas, say 'see ya', and head straight back home again?

"Seems to me like you've made all your choices already," said Charlie, lifting her feet up to rest them on the seat opposite her.

Betsy sat forwards, hands on her knees. "Roads are gonna be watched," she said. "I don't like our chances taking the I-15 or 95."

"So what's left?" asked Boone. "Blockades at either end aren't staffed well."

"Usually," replied Betsy. "Might've had a chance to prepare a little better by now."

Verity bit down on her lip. "There's another way," she said. "I think. I don't know what's there. There used to be a way through, I just don't – don't remember how."

"You're talking about the Divide," said Charlie. "And yeah, we can't go that way. We lost a hell of a lot of men a few years back to that place. It isn't safe."

"Guess we could head south, to Arizona," said Boone. "But that's not going to be any safer. North is NCR territory. Presence is too thick. Wouldn't last two days."

"What – what is the Divide?" Verity asked.

Charlie levelled a piercing gaze at her. "We don't know. We never got any good intel. You see, no one came back."

Verity inclined her head slightly. "Is that your background?" she asked. "Intel?"

Charlie's stare became slightly colder. She pressed her lips together. "Yeah," she said, finally. "It is."

"That's interesting," said Verity, matching her stare. "That's a big change."

Charlie looked away first.

Betsy frowned. "We gotta go the quickest way," she said. "And right now, that is-" she pulled the map out again and refolded it – "straight through the Funeral Mountains."

"Are you shitting me?" asked Verity. "They're actually called that? Death Valley leads to the Funeral Mountains."

"I can show you the map if you'd like," said Betsy. "You'd have to come sit in my lap, though."

"We've got the rest of this trip to get close, Bets'," said Verity. "Why rush a good thing?"

"That's my girl." Betsy grinned.

* * *

They were slower as they wound their way through the mountains. The road was old; cracked and broken, lying in pieces along the valley floor. Earlier along the trail it seemed like attempts had been made to patch up the cracks haphazardly, but as they made their way further east the repairs got less and less common.

They passed a small town in the early afternoon – little more than an old gas station which seemed to double as a general store, and a couple of houses. Verity watched it as they passed. In any other circumstance she would have begged to stop and take a look around – but there was no time. It disappeared into the dust behind them.

The sun was baking, the heat from the desert rising into the air. In the still heat, and given the short overnight break they'd taken, they were starting to doze. Betsy's head was leaning back against the canvas tarp behind her, her legs outstretched, and Charlie had her arms folded, eyes closed and her head bowed on her chest.

Verity was barely able to tear her eyes away from the desert spreading out behind them, wide and open. Free. She was free. No flashbulbs, no prison cells, no supervised showers. Well, there weren't any showers at all, at the moment, but-

"Do you hear something?" Boone's voice broke into her thoughts. He was looking across at her.

Verity frowned. "No," she said. "Just the-"

She broke off. There _was_ a noise, a faint buzzing, thrumming sound, barely audible over the rumble of the truck. She tilted her head, curiously, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from, but she couldn't. She looked at her own reflection in Boone's sunglasses. "That's a Vertibird," she said. "Isn't it?"

Boone was on his feet almost before the words had left her mouth. He tore the tarpaulin cover away from its tetherings at the front of the truck and pounded on the back of the cab. "Stop the truck!" he yelled. "Now!"

The truck braked a little too fast, sending the people in the back sliding towards the front of the truck bed.

"The hell is going on?" demanded Betsy, holding onto the seat with both hands.

The truck ground to a halt. Ten cracked open the driver's side door. "What's wrong?" he asked, but in the absence of the truck's engine, the buzzing sound was a lot louder. "Shit," he swore quietly.

"Turn around," called Boone. "Head back to the town. Try and find some cover."

Ten started up the truck, and made a wide U-turn over the bumpy road. He began to drive in the direction they had come, moving a lot faster. The passengers in the back had to hold on to the metal bars that held the cover in place, jostled by every dip and crack in the road. Boone leaned out of the back of the truck just a little farther than Verity was really comfortable with, searching the skies.

The old truck rattled alarmingly as they sped down the highway, the wind whipping through the tarp where Boone had torn it open. Verity's heart was pounding madly at the thought of her escape being over already. The noise from the Vertibird was getting louder and louder, echoing off the mountains on either side of them.

"Think they'll have thermal imaging?" asked Betsy, leaning towards Boone.

"Yeah," he called back. "Probably."

The truck made a sudden swerve and pulled off the road sharply, juddering over the uneven desert surface. They made another sharp turn, and the truck was plunged into cool darkness.

They had pulled into the old gas station garage.

Ten killed the engine, and for a moment they sat still, listening to the increasingly loud thrum of the Vertibird blades and the quiet ticking of the truck engine.

"We gotta get out," said Charlie, after a moment. "If they do have thermal, they'll be able to see us all sitting here in the truck."

Boone nodded. He was first to hop out, and offered his hand to Verity. She grinned as she took it to step down to the ground.

"Always the gentleman," she murmured. He gave her hand a squeeze.

Inside the store, they spread out. "Look like you're shopping," Charlie had said, taking a spot behind the store's cash register, as if she were the cashier.

The store looked like it hadn't been in use for centuries, not so much as a radroach or scorpion to be found. There were a couple of boxes of cleaner, but little else, and the cash register stood open and empty.

They stood in silence as the sound of the Vertibird filled the room, almost deafeningly loud in the run-down store. Verity's hands were clenched so tight that her fingernails were digging into the palms of her hands painfully. She forced herself to take a step sideways, as if to look at something else on a shelf. The others were tense, barely breathing as they listened for any sound of the Vertibird's whereabouts.

Ten took a hesitant step towards the large front window as it passed overhead, but Betsy gave a sharp shake of her head, and he shrank back. It seemed to hover a moment over the store, but after a minute the Vertibird continued on its path. They watched, from behind whatever cover they could find, as it continued its path east. No one moved until the sound had died away.

"Well," said Betsy. "Think I shat myself."

Verity choked on her laughter.

"Are you fucking serious?" asked Charlie coolly.

"Nope," replied Betsy, taking a last look out the window at the empty sky. "Don't get your panties in a twist, I'm not going to stink up the van. Time to get moving."

"We can't make any more stops to rest," said Boone. "Only one thing we can do now. Head straight east."

Ten groaned. "Looks like you might get that chance at driving anyway, Verity," he said. "I am fuckin' beat."

"We'll rotate," said Boone. "Come on. We have to hurry."


	64. Old Times They Are Not Forgotten

The truck sped east, bouncing along the dusty highway, shaking as it juddered over cracks in the road.

"What if they come back?" Verity asked, nervously.

"They won't," said Charlie grimly. "Not this way. They need to cover as much ground as possible. They'll send ground troops to investigate. They can't be far behind."

Verity looked back. The road behind them pitched and wound through the valley, and the shimmering heat rising from the ground hid anyone who might be following in their tracks.

Betsy was studying the map, folding and refolding it. "We head straight through a settlement," she said, uncertainty threading through her voice for the first time since the rescue. "And then – I don't know."

"We'll manage," said Boone.

The truck rattled onwards.

Charlie leaned forward, after a few minutes. "So - how'd you get captured?" she asked Verity, after a few minutes. "Seems to me like that went down pretty easily."

"You don't know already?" Verity raised an eyebrow. "Thought your thing was intel. That's how you found out where I was, right?"

A faint smile appeared on Charlie's face. "Didn't have time to study your file in great detail," She replied. "As thrilling as that would have been. There was an extremely short window of opportunity for me to get a look at it."

Verity leaned back and crossed her legs. "When someone writes my biography," she said. "I'll have them comp you a copy."

Boone was tense, watching the both of them warily. Betsy was too, eyes narrowed.

"You're awfully good at avoiding questions," said Charlie.

"I'm awfully good at avoiding a lot of things." Verity's lip curled. "Machetes, deathclaws, robots. 'S why I'm still alive."

"So how did we get you then?" Charlie's smile was almost angelic.

"_We_?" Verity asked.

Charlie shrugged, but made no attempt to respond.

Verity took a deep breath. "Little something slipped into my drink," she said. "Woke up in a train."

"Benny drugged you?" growled Boone.

Verity turned to look at him. "Yeah," she said, carefully.

"I'm going to kill him," he said, his voice calm and cold.

Verity looked away.

The truck braked, suddenly, although gently. The four passengers in the back, distracted, looked at each other uneasily. They began to lose acceleration, and finally came to a halt.

Ten cracked the door open. "I think you should take a look at this!" he called back.

The four of them jumped down from the back of the truck and looked ahead.

There was something in the distance, some sort of thick dusty haze. As they were watching, a flicker of lightning snaked through the cloud.

"The hell is that?" asked Betsy.

"I'd guess," said Verity, frowning. "That that's the Divide. I don't know why – why it looks like that. I don't think it used to."

It felt like there was a memory, somewhere, but it was always just out of reach. She looked back down the road. She couldn't have walked this road, could she? It had been a long drive since any type of settlement, and despite the relative lack of animal life, it seemed like the journey alone could kill someone. You'd have to contend with the dry, baking heat and the lack of cover, not to mention you'd have to be carrying a huge amount of water just to stay alive. But then again – maybe you could make it, as long as you took the right routes, and there was a place – just a little ahead – where you could replenish your stocks. Three, four days walk, maybe. Maybe a week. That might just be possible.

She looked around. She didn't recognise it, exactly, but the curves and angles of the mountains around them were – familiar, as if they slotted neatly into place. She took a step forward, trying desperately to grab hold of the memory before it disappeared. She was-

"Oh, shit."

Betsy's voice broke into her thoughts, and Verity turned around. The breath caught in her throat. In the distance, a thick plume of cloud was rising from the ground, high over the shimmering heat.

"They're coming for us," said Betsy. "Back in the truck, everyone. We should be able to outrun them from here."

"Wait," said Ten. "We g-got another 'bird coming in."

"I thought you said they wouldn't come back!" Verity hissed at Charlie.

"They're not looking for us anymore," snapped Charlie. "They know where we are. They're coming to get us."

"Did you not fucking hear me?" asked Betsy. "I said, _get in the goddamn truck_!"

They were barely all inside when Ten started driving again, jostling them in their seats. All eyes were on the desert behind them; the rising cloud of dust that was making their way towards them.

Verity held onto the seat, white-knuckled. They weren't going to make it. They could outrun the ground forces, maybe, but the Vertibird was able to move a lot faster. There was a chance – just – that they'd reach the edge of the Divide before the 'bird caught up, and then they might be able to lose them in the strange haze.

Verity and Boone watched, from either side of the truck, as the Vertibird drew closer. The distinctive sound of the rotor blades as they sliced through the air was getting louder and louder. She was close enough to see the spinning circle of the Vertibird blades, now. Her heart was pounding in her chest, the sound filling her ears.

Verity's gaze slid across to Boone. She wasn't sure – if it came to it – that he'd be willing to fight his way out. He'd managed to rescue her without a single drop of blood spilt – but if it came down to killing NCR troops to escape – she didn't know if he'd be able to do it. Soldiers he'd served with. Maybe not known, never met – but still soldiers he'd shared something with. She tore her eyes away before he noticed.

The army truck's engine was screaming as it hurtled towards the Divide. Verity risked a glance ahead; hanging on to one of the bars of the truck and leaning out into the air. They were close – closer than she'd dared to hope – but the Vertibird was close; _too_ close; the midday sun bright as it reflected off the pilot's window, shining from the painted black steel of the body.

The noise of the wind was rising to an unsettling howl, and the truck was rocked unsteadily by it. She could also hear a gentle patter against the canvas roof. For a moment Verity thought it was raining – but it was just sand against the canvas overhead.

Despite the speed that Ten was coaxing out of the engine, it was no match for the Vertibird. It pulled up as it caught up with them, maintaining a steady hover over the truck.

"You are in possession of stolen property." A familiar voice rang out over a crackly loudspeaker. "Pull over and come to a complete stop."

The truck didn't so much as brake.

"Pull the fuck over," said the voice. "Or we start shooting."

Finally – reluctantly – Ten began to brake. The truck lost speed fast.

Betsy gave Verity a sad smile. "Almost made it," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the wind outside and the Vertibird above them. Boone was sitting, leaned forward with his head in his hands.

"It's not over yet," said Verity, without much conviction.

The faces of the soldiers in the back were grim. "That's Colonel Moore's voice," said Charlie. "She's out there right now. We're pretty much fucked."

The truck finally stopped. No one made a move.

"Exit the vehicle," Moore demanded. "You get no more warnings. You do what I say or you die."

The four in the back heard the driver's side door open. As if that had been the signal, they climbed out and stood in the dust.

Verity gaped. They had been close – so close – to the Divide – but they could never have made it to safety. There was a large drop ahead of them, and the land split and cracked and barren; like someone had carved thick, jagged lines through the earth, destroying everything in their path; concrete or asphalt, buildings and streets alike. In the distance she could see a few huge buildings, leaning at crazy angles as if someone had just tipped them over. Just below them were the remnants of a highway over-bridge, standing thousands of feet over the ground, barely held up by decaying concrete pillars. Cars and other debris, blown there by the wind, were caught in nooks and crannies against the cliffs below. Verity was almost transfixed. Just below them was the remainder of a couple of old brick buildings, roofs torn off and exposed to the elements.

The haze they had been able to see from so far away was a shrieking sandstorm. This close, it blocked out the sky, dimming the daylight to a dull, weak yellow. The sand stung as it blustered against Verity's face, the wind whipping at her clothes, almost strong enough to push her over. She raised her arm to her face in order to protect her skin and hunched her back against the wind.

"Good. Now," came the voice over the loudspeaker. "Drop all your weapons and lie flat on the ground. If one of you makes a wrong move, they will be dead."

Charlie was the first to move, unslinging the rifle from her back and lowering it to the ground carefully. The others looked at each other.

"I have a brief to bring you back alive," said Moore. "If possible. But sometimes that's just not possible. Now get on the goddamn ground. If you run, my patience will wear very thin indeed."

Verity raised her hands over her head. "If I surrender without a fight," she called, into the buffeting air from the Vertibird. "Will you leave the others?"

Moore laughed. "No way in hell."

"We're all going to be goddamn shot as traitors if we go back with them," Betsy said. "We could fight. We die here or we die there. Not much of a choice."

Verity closed her eyes briefly, then turned to look at the others. Ten had his hand on his rifle, eyes fixed on the Vertibird; Betsy standing straight, motionless, hands by her sides. Boone was looking at her – she couldn't tell why. Maybe to see what she was going to do, maybe trying to memorise; to try and hold on to what was possibly the last moment they had together. His rifle was hanging loosely in his hand. He didn't say a word.

She smiled at him, sadly, and dropped to her knees in the dust. "Let's give it up," she said, voice raised over the noise of the wind. "I don't think we're getting out of this one."

She couldn't look at the others, and swallowed painfully."Okay," she said. "We'll-"

She jumped as she heard a shriek of scraping metal from behind her. Something huge and dark – what looked like an iron girder – flew over her head, torn loose from the debris of the Divide by the wind. It connected with the rotor blades of the hovering helicopter, tearing through the blades as if they were paper. The engine began screaming; a high-pitched mechanical whine, as the pilot struggled to right the Vertibird. The rotor blades were twisted and bent. It began to spin wildly, end over end, and finally threw itself against the ground with a loud crunch.

Save for the howling of the wind behind them, there was silence.

"Holy Jesus," said Betsy. "That was the - the Colonel. In there."

"Should we – go see if th-they're-" Ten broke off.

"I don't know," replied Betsy. She turned to look at Verity. "Did you- Christ. You must have something watching over you."

Verity took a hesitant step towards the crash site. "The only thing I got watching over me is him." She indicated Boone with a tilt of the head, but her eyes were fixed on the Vertibird wreckage.

"Leave it," said Boone. "If they're alive, we can't help them. If they're dead, we can't help them. We need to move."

"Got it," said Betsy.

* * *

This one, honestly, was kind of a struggle to get out. This has been kind of a tough week :(

I have very very big plans for the Divide. Impossibly big, perhaps. WE WILL SEE.


	65. Look Away, Look Away

Uh. This was meant to be something of a triumph (and I mean that in the old Roman sense of the word, lol) but .. Things haven't turned out this way. This is actually my 100th chapter since I started writing! [Edit - also my 50,000th hit on Viva New Vegas!] The thing is, though, is that I am going through a fairly painful relationship breakup right now, which does rather affect my ability to write. So, I don't know when the next chapter of this will be posted - I'm guessing it's not going to be in a week's time. I would love it if you didn't forget me, and writing has been one of the ways I have dealt with tough situations in the past, but I just don't know how this is going to go.

Also you can kind of tell which bits I wrote pre-breakup and which bits I wrote post-breakup. Lol.

I would like to thank everyone who has supported me in this writing to date - you have no idea how much it means to me.

* * *

The dust in the distance was rising, the NCR trucks getting closer and closer.

"Shit," said Betsy, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "Okay, we gotta get moving." She made for the truck and began trying to tug their supply crate out of the back.

It was a moment before anyone moved to help her.

Ten started towards her first, then Boone, and they easily lifted their supplies out onto the dusty ground.

Verity turned to look around her. They seemed to be standing over a highway tunnel through the cliff below them. Power pylons stood bent and broken in a crooked line, disappearing into the cracked earth.

They stripped the truck, taking what they could; the canvas tarp, the straps securing it, the energy cells from the engine that still held a charge.

Boone and Ten lowered the crate over the edge on one of the canvas straps, as carefully as they could. They had lowered it about half-way, when the wind, tearing at it, smashed the crate into a rock, ripping it out of the soldiers' hands. They could only watch as it fell the rest of the way to the ground, wood splintering against the rock. The sound of the bottles of water inside smashing was audible from where they stood on the clifftop. Boone swore under his breath, watching the liquid spread darkly over the rocks below.

"Come on," called Betsy over the noise of the wind, taking another look at the rising clouds of dust behind them. "Forget that. Time to move."

The cliffs were deceptively easy to climb down, jagged and sharp, but easy to find handholds Verity climbed down carefully, her hands grasping the rocks for stability.

She let go and stepped back. The tunnel had collapsed on a truck, crushing the cab. The paint along the body had been all but stripped off by the whirling sands, exposing dull, bare metal underneath.

She still had to leap over the debris that had piled up against the blocked highway tunnel; filing cabinets, office desks, motorbike parts and concrete blocks from the highway. The wind whipped past her so fast she could barely breathe.

She lifted her hand to her eyes to protect them from the whirling sand. The light was unsettling, the cloud above blocking out the sun, still crackling and flickering with lightning. The highway spread out in front of them. Skeletons of buildings were scattered along cliffs to each side of the teetering highway, metal girders where high-rise buildings used to stand. Down, below the highway, between the jagged cracks in the earth's surface, were scattered debris – cars; furniture; whole parts of offices smashed open as buildings had toppled into the chasm below.

She staggered, barely able to stand up against the force of the wind, and ducked back into the shelter of the tunnel. There was a duffel bag, half-torn open, tucked into the space between the tunnel and some fallen rock. Inside were a couple of packets of rad-x and a syringe of med-x. Verity stared at it a moment, mouth suddenly dry, before picking up the rad-x boxes and pocketing them.

Ten was next to climb down, carefully, then Charlie dropped down beside them.

"Knew it was bad," Charlie murmured. "Didn't know it was this bad."

"What happened?" asked Verity.

Charlie blinked at her, startled. "We don't know," she said, after a moment. "We know it's hot, and we know there's a lot of nasty shit out here. Not much more. No one came back, you see."

"Hot?" repeated Verity.

Charlie looked away, out over the crumbling highway. "Lot of radiation," she explained.

Verity looked down at her pip-boy. "Nothing yet."

Charlie shrugged. "Good," she said, flatly.

Betsy and Boone were having an animated discussion, but the wind tore it away before those on the ground could hear. Throwing her hands up in the air, Betsy began to climb down, while Boone stepped back from the cliff edge, out of sight.

She climbed down, surefooted and effortless.

"What was that about?" asked Verity, gesturing to the top of the cliff.

"Fucker tried to pull rank," she said. "I told him to back the fuck off, but – he has been in the army a longer than me, so…" She shrugged. "Not worth fighting about. Not now, anyway."

"Is he coming?" asked Verity, looking back up at the clifftop. "He's not going to – to try to hold them off, or anything, is he?" She took a step back towards the rocks. "I can't let him-"

"Nah, he's on his way," said Betsy. "Keep your shirt on. Just had some things to cover everything off."

Verity gritted her teeth and watched. It seemed an age until she saw him, boots first as he clambered over the edge, holding a bag in one hand. She couldn't take her eyes off him until he finally stepped down. "What was that?" she asked.

In response, he opened the pack and handed her a wide strip of cloth. "Going to be hard to breathe properly," he said. "Wrap this around your face. Like Ten." He handed out more fabric to the others.

It took Verity a couple of tries before she managed to get it on correctly – not too tight; not so loose that the gritty grains of sand fell into it and began to fill it up from the bottom; making sure it was tucked in around any areas that might let the swirling sand in.

"Took you a while," she said, once she'd managed to get it right. Her voice came out sounding muffled in her ears.

"Yeah," said Boone, with a sigh, tucking his own face wrap in. "Jammed the accelerator of the truck down and aimed it north. Figure it'll buy us an hour or so. More, if we're lucky. Not counting on that, though."

Verity jumped as an eddy of wind lifted the vehicles on the highway overbridge, just a little, dragging them violently over the ground. The metal screamed as it scraped against the concrete, but quickly settled in to the new cracks and crevices in the road as the wind died. Verity was about to take a step forward when Betsy dropped a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, questioning, but Betsy said nothing, giving a sharp tilt of her head towards the road ahead.

A deathclaw had leaped out of the back of one of the cargo trucks. It swiped once at the wall of the truck irritably, tearing through the metal like paper, and then began to stalk down the highway, away from them. As it moved away, one deathclaw, and then another, joined it.

Verity looked up to see Betsy's face, grim in the strange yellow dullness.

"Let me guess," said Betsy. "That way's home, right?"

Verity pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyes. "I think so," she said, eventually. "I think this road is meant to lead pretty much straight through." She tried to visualise it as how it had been – was the overbridge always like this? Towering above – whatever had used to be below? Not being able to quite remember was an unpleasant feeling. She checked her pip-boy. West to east. That confirmed it. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry."

"NCR behind us and deathclaws ahead," said Betsy. "Which you gonna pick?"

Verity realised she was talking to her. She shook her head. "Neither. What I see our primary goal is getting out of sight of anyone looking for us – but that doesn't mean we have to go fight a bunch of deathclaws. Maybe we should try and find another way around – there may be another way up along the bottom of the valley. I'd say head down past that old building with the signs on it, down there-" she pointed. "And see where we can get to from there."

"Um," said Charlie. "Is there a reason we're letting the civilian pick our route?"

"So she's a civilian?" asked Betsy, rounding on her. "So are the fucking rest of us. This woman is probably the reason me and Ten and Boone are alive today. And she's _been here before_."

Charlie didn't reply.

Boone led the way down to the destroyed building, Verity close behind. The stones were loose under their feet, and their descent was a half-skid down the path.

Verity stopped when she saw the sign on the building. It was large and gaudy and like a million other signs she'd seen in her travels, relics from the old world, but – it looked familiar. _Parker's Restaurant and Fountain. Parking in rear._

She'd never parked there, obviously, but it looked better maintained than the rest of the old rubble lying around. She took a step closer, but half-tripped over a wall of a building that had been almost completely destroyed, only the foundations left as suggestions to how large it used to be.

She looked down at the low brick wall irritably, but froze when she saw the symbol painted on it. She crouched to look closer. Thirteen red stars, painted in a circle. One star in the middle. Five stripes pointing downwards underneath, as if the painter had dipped each of the fingers of his hand in paint and dragged them all downwards. The lines were harsh and hasty, the imprints of fingertips still visible in places. She touched it, gently. It was dry, but not old enough to have been scraped off by the harsh winds.

"What's that?" asked Ten.

"It's a sign," she said, quietly.

"Uh," he said. "Okay."

Betsy had overtaken her, and was walking alongside Boone, her hand on her hip.

"Well – what does it mean?" Ten asked.

"It means – means there's something dangerous ahead," she said, watching as the soldiers walking through the front door of the building of them.

"_Hey_!" she called. "There's something-"

Boone was knocked back suddenly by something huge and black, pushing him to the ground. Betsy reached for her rifle, but it was knocked out of her hand by another black creature, rough and scaly. It seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, and moved almost too fast to see.

Verity reached for her pistol, but her fingers grasped only air. She didn't have anything – a single thing that could help her fight. There were more coming towards them, climbing over the debris piled to her right. She took a step back.

A shot rang out from behind her, then another. Boone kicked the corpse of the thing off him, then smashed the one next to him with the butt of his rifle. It crumpled. Betsy was bleeding, but managed to take aim and squeeze off a shot at one that was getting uncomfortably close to Verity.

A final barrage of shots rang out and it was over.

"What the hell are these things?" asked Betsy, nudging one with her toe.

Verity bent over one. It had wickedly sharp talons at the end of wiry, muscular limbs; huge, milky eyes in a bulbous head; and pale spines in ridges along its head and shoulders. It was clutching a pencil in one hand.

"Mutated accountant?" she suggested, her voice a little shakier than she liked.

"Christ," said Charlie. "They're fast. Lucky there were so many of us."

Verity chewed on her lip. "Let's try not to get separated then," she said. "They remind me of nightstalkers. Hunt in packs. Take the weak ones down first. And, uh, on that note, can I have a gun?"

Boone handed her his sidearm, a 10mm, standard army issue, and dug a couple of boxes of ammo out of one of his pockets. "Sorry," he said, as she looked down at it. "It's all we've got right now."

Verity nodded. "Good enough," she said. "Let's head out."


	66. Look Away, Dixieland

God almighty. This has been kind of a nightmare month/season. I hope you'll forgive me for not updating for so long, and then when I do, for this being so weird. I feel like my writing has changed quite a lot since I've been out of practice - I normally write this from Verity's perspective, see, so I try and match the vocabulary up to what she would think about her thoughts or feelings or actions, but I seem to have gotten a little verbose. :\ I'm not the happiest with this chapter, but if I'm going to get back into the habit of posting regular updates, sometimes I'm going to have to push through some difficult writing places.

But, hello again. I've missed you all. I'm kind of surprised at how many page views I still get after not posting for like, two months. Christ.

* * *

Verity watched the land in front of her spread out, brown and bleak and riven with cracks, rubble and huge chunks of concrete pitting the ground. For a moment she hesitated, eyes half closed against the hot, whirling wind. Just a few miles between her and home. Just a few short steps until she'd be back in the Mojave.

She took an uncertain step forward. She was vaguely aware of a faint crackling noise.

Back where her supporters might stab her in the back at any second. Back where she'd been sold and left for dead. Back where nothing she ever did seemed to change a goddamn thing.

"That was quick." Boone had lifted her arm in his hands; checking her pip-boy.

"What's quick?" she asked, only half- paying attention.

"Rad counter's going off."

"Already?" she asked, looking out across the wastes. The distance seemed insurmountable. A few miles across the deadlands; across land still burning with invisible fires.

"We need – we need you to be safe," Boone said.

She turned back to him, blinking in incomprehension.

Charlie gave him a sidelong look, but didn't say anything.

"I found some rad-x," said Verity. "Before. Not much, but-"

"Take them," said Boone.

She looked up at him uneasily. "We've got – four pills. I can't just take-"

"Then take two," he said.

She looked around. "Anyone…"

The others were silent; her words torn away by the wind as if she'd never spoken them.

She could feel Boone's gaze on her, burning, and lowered her eyes to dig through her pockets for the metal tin. He didn't look away until she'd swallowed both of the pills that she'd found. She began to walk.

Invisible fires. Where had she heard that? She had been fortunate enough to never have been exposed to a serious amount of radiation for a prolonged period – deep in her memory was a fleeting impression of creaky, dark vaults that were 'cursed' – but she'd seen the effects. Rare old world ghouls, with layers of skin and flesh peeling away as if their insides were trying to escape. Travellers she couldn't help but stare at out of the corner of her eye, ex-treasure hunters with black tumours chewing through tissue and bone; bulging deformations and facial features pushed out of place. While the fires had died down in the East, they hadn't been extinguished completely, glowing embers still hiding under rock and steel.

She turned back to look at the others. Charlie stared back at her, eyes narrowed and defiant. Betsy had her hands on her hips, looking up at the overbridge above them. Ten looked younger than he probably was, wide-eyed behind his glasses.

Boone sighed. "I think we're going to have to split up here," he said. "Verity and I will head down along the plains. You three – camp here, maybe try to make your way out in a few days when the NCR heat has died down. Head around, maybe."

"What?" exclaimed Charlie. "No! We need to stick together. You can't just leave us here!"

"It's too dangerous for all of us to go. Don't have the resources." Boone was looking out over the jagged plain below.

"That's ridiculous," said Charlie. "You two aren't gonna survive out there. And we three aren't gonna survive back here!"

"We don't have a choice."

Charlie turned to Betsy and Ten, searching their faces.

"We'll be fine," said Betsy, quietly and calmly.

"This is such a fucking terrible idea," said Charlie. "We're going to be stuck here?"

"Until w-we can find some rad-x to follow them," said Ten. "Come on. We're going to be fine." The confidence of his voice didn't quite match the confidence of his words.

Boone took Verity by the wrist. "Come on," he said. She followed.

The ground was cracked and torn and ripped, making their progress slow as they walked into the wind. The overbridge towered overhead, slender and fragile against the sky. It seemed like it might crumble and topple at any moment.

Verity frowned at the huge cracks in the earth. What had caused them. Why were they there? What was down there? When they got close enough, she made her way to the edge, gingerly, and stood at the edge of the crack to look down.

It was dark, the light barely reaching down to the ground inside. She could see points of light in the darkness, leaping and whirling; spinning dizzily. Frowning, she leant further over the edge. She caught a brief impression of twisted, deformed metal, before Boone grabbed her wrist.

"It's more of them," he said, his voice low, and then she saw it – the points of light were the glow of the tips of the monsters horns and bony protrusions along their spines. There were _thousands_ in just the sliver of cavern that she could see, a writhing mass of creatures, crawling over each other in the dimness.

Verity swallowed, staring down into the void until gentle pressure on her wrist made her turn back.

"We need to keep moving," said Boone.

She glanced down at her pip-boy, reflexively more than anything.

_15 rads per second_.

"Holy shit," she said, backing off. "This place is-"

Boone was looking at her calmly, quietly, and suddenly, she froze. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes flicked back down to her pip-boy. The text was sitting there in small glowing letters: _rad resistance: 75%_.

"We've gotta go back," she said. Her face felt like it was made of stone, solid and brittle.

"Why?" Boone's voice seemed to come from far away.

She fumbled in the pockets of the uniform she was wearing frantically. Finally, her fingers closed around the spare tin of rad-x. She pressed it into his hands. "Take them," she said.

"You need th-"

"No," she said, raising her voice. "You need to take them now. The rads are too high; you might die, I need you to take them, we need to get back." Her words were coming out in a jumbled rush.

She pushed him, back, further away from the cracks in the earth. He didn't resist, fingers still curled around the pill box.

"Take them!" she said, voice bordering on hysteria.

Frowning, he levered the lid off the case and swallowed the pills inside. "Verity," he said. "Nothing's wrong."

She looked down at her wrist again.

_2 rads per second_.

She felt her pulse begin to slow. "Okay," she said. Low enough. Boone was watching her, frowning faintly. Maybe she was wrong. She licked her lips and tried to focus. "We need to back up a bit, try and figure out if we can get through here. It's too fucking dangerous to just run blindly across, and we don't have the time to work out the hotspots as we go."

"Okay," he said.

Okay. As simple as that. She began to walk.

It was a moment before she realised Boone wasn't following her. She turned. He was leaning heavily on his rifle, knees bent and unsteady. Her heart skipped a beat.

He'd noticed her scrutiny. "I'm- fine," he said. "Just – dizzy. Just a – just a minute-"

In an instant she was by his side. "It's okay," she said, her blood pounding in her ears. "Let's just get back."

He took a shaky step forward, then collapsed to one knee. He shook Verity's arm off when she took hold of his elbow. "_Fine_," he said again.

"No you're not!" she said, her voice shrill and panicked.

"Shh," he hushed her, barely audibly over the sound of the wind. He closed his eyes.

Heart pounding, she ducked under his arm and tried to stand up. He was almost dead weight at first, but managed to struggle to his feet. "V- Verity," he began.

She took a dogged step forward, struggling to keep her breathing under control. The sound of her harsh gasps echoed in her ears, confined by the cloth over her face. Boone leaned on her heavily, stumbling, his steps erratic. "What-" he said, quietly. "What's happening?"

She could feel his irregular heartbeat against her ribs; the warmth of his body and the slackness of his muscle over her shoulders. "Wasn't watching the fucking rads properly," she gasped, dragging them both another step forwards. "I'm – sorry."

He didn't reply.

She looked around wildly, desperately trying to figure out where they'd come from. The ground was rough and uneven; dotted with debris and massive chunks of concrete in every direction. She was lost, panicking, eyes darting from one familiar-looking spot to the next.

No. _No._ The overbridge. She craned her neck to look up. It was high above, and fragile as it perched delicately on the long concrete columns.

One way seemed to melt into a cave, the road at that end somehow even thinner and less even than it was at the end they'd started at. The other way – she could just see the outline of the tunnel that they had climbed past on the way down from the cliff. She bit her lip and struck out towards it, muscles already aching.

They'd made it maybe a hundred feet before suddenly the full weight of Boone collapsed onto her shoulders. She dropped to the ground, knees hitting the rocky earth hard.

The breath caught in her throat, and she laid him down as gently as she could. His eyes were closed. He was still breathing, though, and when she pressed her fingers to his neck she felt his pulse flickering under her fingers.

"Boone," she croaked. "Please."

He didn't respond.

She grabbed a fistful of his jacket and leaned down closer to him. "C-Craig," she said, his name feeling alien in her mouth.

Again, nothing.

She took a shaky breath and looked up. She couldn't carry him. Not like she had been. She stood, turned her back to their destination, and hooked her hands under his arms. She lifted as much as she could, dragging him clumsily. She watched his boots trailing in the dirt, carving channels through the dust and sand.

She wasn't sure what made her look up. A flicker of movement, maybe; a half-heard sound.

A black head had emerged from the pit she'd peered into. It tilted its head to the side curiously, and blinked its huge pale eyes at her in the light, the thin filmy lids sliding rapidly over the liquid surface.

She stared at it, paralysed, knees half bent as she held on to Boone and her eyes wide. It crawled out of the hole and began to walk towards her slowly – not cautiously, _lazily_. She fumbled for the gun at her side, half-dropping Boone in the process, and held the pistol out in front of her unsteadily.

It paused almost imperceptibly, then continued its slow advance.

She hesitated, her heart pounding so hard she couldn't hear anything else; the crunching under the monster's claws, the howling of the wind. There was only one of them now. It was interested; inquisitive, right now, but if she fired – not only would she risk not killing it with one bullet, but the others, down in the depths below would hear the shot and might climb up to investigate. She looked at the creature and began to back away, dragging Boone by the collar of his uniform.

It sauntered towards her, almost as if it was playing. She raised her pistol in shaking hands. "Get back," she hissed.

It made it to five feet away from them, then three, watching her the whole time. It reached out to touch Boone's boot with its long, clawed fingers.

She fired. The creature leapt back, making a chittering noise. She pulled the trigger again and again, spilling bullets into it until she was out of ammo, but the monster was barely phased. She scrambled away, looking down desperately at Boone's rifle, but knew she'd never be able to get hold of it in time.

A shot rang out, and the creature dropped to the ground. Verity looked down at the empty pistol in her hand, and turned around. Betsy was crouching on a low mound of rubble near where she'd left them. Ten and Charlie were already running over the plain towards her.

She stood by, awkwardly, as Charlie dropped to her knees next to Boone. "Boone," she said, shaking his shoulder. "_Boone_." She turned to Verity with venom in her eyes. "What the fuck were you thinking?" she spat. "I swear to god, if he dies because of you…"

Verity was mute, staring. She felt sick, and stood by helpless as Charlie and Ten managed to pick Boone up between them and carry him back to the tunnel. She followed in their wake. It had been her fault, her stupidity for not paying attention.

Up on the ridge, Betsy fired again, and then again. Verity turned. There were monsters crawling out of the crack in the earth – not yet a flood, but a steady stream. They began to move faster until they were almost running.

Verity's feet pounded against the rough earth, sometimes close to losing her balance by mis-stepping or sliding on loose rocks. They were getting close to Betsy now, who was reloading her rifle. Verity risked a look back. Her heart sank. There were too many of them. Too many for them to kill, even if they were all able to shoot.

Where were they going? Her mind raced, bordering on panic. The crumbling buildings near the tunnel entrance were no use; they couldn't hide there, couldn't barricade themselves inside. She reached out in her mind, for what was maybe the first time trying to sort through her memories; dig out old information that might be useful. _There were buildings… up the path to the left?_

The path was almost in sight. They had almost reached it when a sudden _thud _just ahead of them made them stop dead.

A deathclaw had leaped down from the overbridge above, and was watching them, its tiny beady eye critical as it moved its horned head to take in all of them. They froze in horror.

Behind them, the stream of monsters began to pour in over the ridge. When they saw the deathclaw, Verity could hear that same chittering noise that she had heard earlier, as they paused to take stock, and then, slowly, began to move forward.

The deathclaw swung its head around to look at them. It took one step towards the creatures, then another. The first dark shape leaped towards it, heralding the group to swarm over it, slashing at its limbs, its belly, anything they could reach.

"Come on!" Betsy said. "Let's move!"

They ran.


	67. Oh I Wish I Was in Dixie

Writing is a habit like any other, I guess. It gets easier the more you do it. This is news to me okay :I

I also really want to say thank you to all those who messaged me during my hiatus. I feel a bit gauche about naming people so I won't, but please know that it really meant a lot to me. :)

* * *

Betsy took point as they hurried up the hill. She hesitated for just a moment at the split of the overbridge and the path – and took the path, continuing further around the corner. Verity, following along at the back, kept looking behind them to see if they were being followed.

Before they had even managed to make it a handful of steps, she held up her hand for them to stop. "Mined to hell and back," she hissed back at the others. "Stay off the road."

They crowded to the side against the rough rock cliff.

As they rounded the corner, they could see two human figures lying next to the corpse of a deathclaw. Betsy halted the group again. The path continued on ahead, while a clearing lay off to the right. More collapsed buildings; empty shells of houses.

Verity crouched next to the cliff wall to be less conspicuous. Behind the bodies on the road, there were another two men patrolling – but something was odd about them. It might just have been the swirling sand that filled the air between them, but there was something in the way they walked; the way they held themselves, that put her on edge. They were wearing a mishmash of armour pieces – some looked like the crimson sports gear of the Legion, some of it looked like the desert brown of the NCR. It was patched together with metal reinforcing. Verity squinted and leaned closer – it seemed to be made out of road signs. She shivered, remembering the metal shields of the 80s, the gang that had briefly held her captive high above Zion Valley.

Betsy glanced towards her, seeing the furrow of her forehead. Verity shook her head in response. Betsy nodded once, then held a hand up and signalled them to continue along the path.

They crept past the tiny settlement as fast as they could. Even if there was something more than rubble and sand, they couldn't afford to investigate. Verity glanced ahead at Boone as he was carried. He was still unconscious, and the sight of his limp form made her heart seize in her chest.

The path stopped abruptly, with a metal bank of levers and dials and blinking lights. They were on a raised metal platform, their footsteps clanking under them. Out in front of them there was a large raised metal circle, and beyond that, in the distance – Verity's eyes widened as, for the first time, she saw what the Divide had used to be. The empty skeletons of high-rise buildings, close-together and numerous, rose against the horizon, some tilted at crazy angles; leaning into each other, crumbling at the corners. It had been huge – an entire ruined city. She stared, incredulously. What had happened here?

"What is this?" Betsy was glaring at the metal panel in front of them.

Ten lowered Boone to the ground as carefully as he could, and came to stand next to Betsy. He leaned over the machinery, inspecting it closely, while being careful not to touch anything.

"Think its l-launch control," he said.

"Launch control for what?" Betsy asked.

He nodded towards the circular structure below them. "Some sort of missile, I'd s-say."

Verity was trying to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The thought of getting inside, getting out of the sand that was lodged in her hair and ears and eyelashes and somehow filling up the covering over her mouth was becoming more attractive by the second.

Ten turned to look at her. "I-I'm guessing that these'll be connected," he said. "But-" He crouched to the side of the panel and examined the wiring. "If we j-just disable – _carefully_ – there." he said. The door slid open. "We can bypass the whole thing. Ain't n-no way we're launching whatever's in th-that fucking thing just to get out of the goddamn wind."

Inside was blessedly, mercifully quiet. They were able to shut the door behind them. The silence inside after the constant howling of the sand was almost overwhelming, and the stillness, after so long compensating for the strength of the wind as it blew against them was almost disorienting.

Verity knelt beside Boone. When she reached out to touch his face gently, his eyelids flickered.

"V-veh," he whispered through cracked lips, barely audible even in the silence. "S- 'm – s."

She clasped his hand in both of hers, squeezing tightly. "It's okay," she whispered back. "Just hold on. Please."

She thought she felt him squeeze back gently, before his eyes rolled back and he was gone once more. She shifted her hand slightly to feel the beat of his pulse under his skin. It was faint and fluttery, like a cazadore's wing. She bit her lip.

Betsy was inspecting a panel further into the room. "It's an elevator down," she said. "Let's keep moving. There's nothing up here for us."

The metal beneath them lurched, and, with a groan of metal, began travelling slowly downwards, at an angle. The trip was unsteady – stopping and starting, the machinery squealing as it meshed and ground into action.

Verity could barely breathe, every muscle in her body painfully tense as she crouched next to Boone. He'd orchestrated her rescue, and she'd – she'd gotten him nearly killed as soon as she'd had the opportunity to do a goddamn thing. Stupid. _Stupid_. She watched his face closely, for any sign that his condition was improving or getting worse. She didn't know what the others were doing, what the elevator was doing, just that this was up to her to fix.

She almost fell over when the elevator docked with a sharp jolt at the lower end of the shaft. Charlie helped her move Boone into the next room. There was a low table with an orange bulb set into it, a desk, and row of lockers. On one side a staircase angled downwards, and at the back of the room there were two doors leading to the rest of the complex.

"Stay here," Betsy commanded. "We'll secure the area."

"Bring any rad-x straight back here," Verity said, her voice trembling.

"Roger that," said Betsy, and then they were gone, their rapid footsteps on the metal floor slowly fading.

Verity started looking through boxes, tearing the lids off and leaving them dropped on the floor. She rifled through MREs, old money, ammo; none of it useful. Halfway under a stack of old books, she found a stimpak. One. Just one. She almost felt like screaming, but clenched her jaw and retrieved it. It wasn't going to be much help against severe radiation poisoning, but – if any cellular damage had occurred, it might be able to mitigate that.

She squeezed Boone's arm just above the elbow, and slid the needle into the vein that stood weakly out.

He opened his eyes, grey-green and large in the dimness. He wet his dry lips with his tongue. "V-verity," he whispered.

Her heart lurched in her chest. "B- Craig," she said. "Shit. I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Anything," he said. "I'm-"

She saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, and he jerked his head away from her in time to vomit on the floor next to him. She pressed a hand to her mouth. It was bad. She'd known this already, but this just confirmed it. She didn't know how long he could hold out.

"Just like – old times, huh?" he asked, with a strained smile.

Verity blinked. "What, I get you killed doing something stupid?" she asked, almost smiling back.

He shook his head, but it was a slow movement. He was getting tired. "Back at – that vault. You remember?"

"Vault," she repeated, under her breath. "I don't-" she paused. She _did_ remember, now. Vault – 34? Was that it? The water and the glowing ghouls and the radiation sinking into their bones. She hadn't been sure they were going to get out of it alive – but somehow, they'd managed it. "Yeah," she whispered.

"Verity," he said again. "If I don't make it-"

"Shut up," she said. "You're going to make it, and I don't give a fuck what y-"

She was cut off by the sound of rapid laser fire coming from further into the facility. There was a boom as something exploded. Verity's head snapped towards the door.

"Get down!" The muffled voice sounded like Betsy, and then she could hear the fizz and crackle of a pulse grenade, followed by light arms fire. It fell silent too quickly. She looked at Boone. His head was slumped back against the walls, eyes closed once more.

"_Verity?_"

She looked up in response to the sound of her name.

Betsy appeared in the doorway. "Verity! We found a motherfucking auto-doc!" she said, urgently. "Help me lift him."

Between the two of them they managed to carry Boone to the auto-doc down the winding hallway. A combat robot lay on its side in a corner of the room, Ten and Charlie waiting. It wasn't until the metal arms had gently manoeuvred him into place that she relaxed, the door sliding shut.

Betsy put a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be okay, kid."

Verity found herself looking up at Betsy, not knowing quite what to say. "I don't know what I'd do without him," she said, quietly.

Betsy looked away.

Verity checked the diagnostic computer, and winced when she saw how high his radiation level was. '_Stable' _it said, in glowing white letters.

She turned around and left the room, following the corridor just around the next corner before turning and leaning her head against the cool metal wall. She felt like crying, or screaming, but restrained herself to a quiet but vehement "_fuck_." Don't cry; can't cry; keep it together.

Then she looked up. There was a crackling sound; a buzzing noise, right at the edge of her hearing. She cocked her head, straining to hear.

She took a step, then another, trying to locate the source of the noise. It led her down the narrow corridor and into an empty room. Well, almost empty. There was a metal box in the corner of the room, lid tightly closed. The metal was vibrating slightly, amplifying the sound. She crouched down in front of the box and levered the lid off.

There was a radio inside, static blaring from the speaker. She picked it up and looked at it. It was green and streaked with grime, with two speakers, one to listen and one to speak into, and a button on the side to hold down when transmitting. She wiped some of the greasy dirt off with her finger and looked at it thoughtfully. Hadn't been used outside much, then – the whirling sand would have scraped it off.

She frowned at it. What had it been doing here? It couldn't have been here that long, surely, or otherwise the batteries-

She jumped as it crackled to life in her hand. Her fingers tightened around the radio reflexively.

"Courier." The voice was low, almost a growl.

"What the fuck?" she said, alarmed, looking down at it. It sat still and quiet in her hand, and she realised she hadn't been holding the button down. She slid her thumb down to the button and pressed it gently, swallowing her sadness. Back to business; the face she presented as the face of New Vegas, hard and cynical. "Uh," she said. "Hi?"

"Wasn't what I'd planned," the voice crackled out of the speaker. "Meeting like this. Thought I'd have more time, some forewarning. You always did have a way of surprising me, Courier."

"What?" she said irritably, frowning in confusion. "Who is this?"

"Memories, Courier. Echoes. Nothing more."

She stared down at the radio. "I'm not really in the mood for this," she said.

"Strange to see you wearing the skin of the Bear." She could feel the vibration of his words through the speaker as he spoke.

She frowned. He'd _seen_ her. She put a hand on her pistol, and turned around, walking back out to the hallway.

"In all the time I've known you," he continued, "I've never seen you fly anyone's flag but your own."

She stopped where she stood. That had triggered something, something buried deep in the back of her mind.

"I – I've met you," she said, slightly incredulously. "Is that right?"

"Not surprised you haven't come alone." He ignored her question. "You were always good at letting others do your killing for you. Blind them with sand in their eyes, let them lay down their life for you to walk over. Some people would follow you anywhere, Courier."

"I haven't really been a courier for a long time," said Verity, walking carefully down the hallway, trying to make her footsteps as quiet as possible. She lifted her pistol out of its holster and stepped inside. The room was empty.

"Some things you can't escape from, Courier. They follow you around for the rest of your days."

"Okay," she said. "I've never been super great at riddles. You wanna lay it all on out here, you go ahead."

There was a short pause. "Keep walking, Courier. You'll find out all you want to know."

She narrowed her eyes. "So what's your problem?" she asked, leaning out of the room to check the hallway was clear. "Did we fuck?"

There was silence on the other end of the radio.

She grinned savagely. "If we did, it can't have been that bad, could it?"

The silence drew on. She stepped back out into the hallway, heading for the last exit from the hallway.

"The silent treatment's not particularly encouraging," she said. "We did, didn't we? Awkward."

"No." The answer was curt.

The speaker clicked off. Dead air.

Verity tucked the radio into her pocket. That possibly hadn't been the _best_ way to deal with whoever was on the end – but fuck it, she had bigger things to worry about.

She stepped through the last doorway of the corridor, and stopped dead, all thoughts of tracking down the mysterious voice on the other end of the radio forgotten. In front of her was the pristine, white column of a huge missile.


	68. Away, Away

Dear god D: sorry for the delay. I've, um, been being irl social. So weird!

This chapter took way too long for the slight amount of extra length I've ended up with.

Right here I would like to plug two things! The first is the Obsidian (writers of Fallout: New Vegas) Kickstarter Project: Eternity (which you will have to google because 's weird linking sanctions) but it is going to be so fucking amazing. SO AMAZING.

The second is I have a shitty writing blog now which is a tumblr account named cressidaisolde (wtf this place has gotten way sneakier with its link banning. It's also in my profile IF YOU'RE INTERESTED). Watch as I fail to update it.

* * *

"Were you t-talking to – whoa." Ten appeared next to her. She hadn't heard his footsteps.

"I think that's a goddamn motherfuckin' n-nuke," he said, looking up at the missile in front of them. It was flared at the base, tapering to a slightly rounded point high above. An old world flag was painted on the side.

"I thought they all got launched in the war," said Verity. "Like a hundred years ago."

"Two hundred," Ten corrected absently. "And I d-don't think there was enough time to launch all of them." He stood back, almost in awe, staring.

Verity checked her pip-boy. It wasn't registering any radiation coming off the missile. "Is it dangerous?" she asked. "Like is it going to explode or something?"

"N-not unless it gets launch-" He stopped, eyes wide behind his glasses. "I'll bet this was what that setup outside was for. Sweet merciful Jesus."

"Where was it gonna go?" asked Verity, still gazing up at the rocket.

"No c-clue," Ten replied. "Not even sure if it'd have m-made it off the ground. Couple hundred years can do a lot to the insides of one of these things. Not to mention the launch c-computer, and whatever's gone on with the land outside that could mess with it."

"We're clear on this floor." Betsy stepped through the doorway. "But there's something you should – holy shit."

"Mm," grunted Ten in agreement.

Verity was transfixed. It was as if the missile in front of them held some type of mystical power, like a tribal's totem. Huge and potent and brimming with barely-restrained power.

"Well what the hell is it doing here?" Betsy asked.

"Something w-was wrong with this place. Wasn't it?"

"If there was, they never told me about it." Betsy took a step forward, leaning just a little closer towards the missile and looking up to the steel gates overhead. "Guess I heard some things though."

"Y-yeah, but why would we get posted to a place like this?" continued Ten. "No visibility. Couldn't do a damn thing. This kind of thing would be on a need-to-know b-basis only."

"Chuck might know something," Betsy suggested.

"She h-h-hates it when you call her that, you know." Ten said.

Betsy grinned. "I know."

"I don't think it was always like this," Verity said, abruptly.

The other two turned to her. She could feel her skin begin to turn red. "I mean, the sky," she said. "The sand. There was something different – special? – about this place. Something that – made it important?" She rubbed at her forehead in frustration. "Other than the location, I mean. It wasn't always – wrong."

Betsy gave a one-shouldered shrug. "We'll see what we can get out of Charlie. But – follow me. Like I said, there's something you should see."

They followed her back down the hall, and into another room. Verity stopped, and took a half-step back, hair rising on the back of her neck.

Directly opposite the door, a man wearing pieces of the NCR uniform was pinned to the wall, suspended a few inches above the ground. His skin – Verity didn't want to get any closer to him, but forced herself to – his skin looked as if it had been peeled off; stripped back to reveal the flesh beneath. Dark beads of blood had dried on his skin, presumably from oozing out before death. His eyes were closed, even his eyelids scraped raw.

"W-why is he dressed like that?" asked Ten. "The uniform-"

"I know we sent some people down here," said Betsy. "I – don't know happened to them."

As Verity approached, she was able to see what was holding him – long metal nails had penetrated through flesh and bone to secure him to the wall behind him.

He, too, was wearing the haphazard road signs that she'd seen on the others outside, two street name signs strapped to his leg with rough leather straps. They were scored and pitted with dents and rust. She took a hesitant step closer, and then another, and gingerly pried one of the signs away, just a little, to examine his skin.

It was just as red under the armour as it was above it. When she lifted the man's sleeve to check under there as well, she could see that it wasn't quite as badly damaged. She frowned in confusion. He'd been skinned – but whoever had done it had replaced parts of the armour afterwards – and maybe some of the damage had had time to heal?

She backed away almost unconsciously, her lips drawing back to bare her teeth in a subconscious fear reaction. "This doesn't make sense," she said, half to the others.

Ten moved closer to see. "You th-think those black claw things out there can hold a gun?" he asked.

Verity shuddered at the thought. "I don't think that's their style," she said.

"They're strangely human," said Betsy thoughtfully. "When they stand up, they balance on two feet."

"I guess they carry sort of 'human' objects, too," said Verity, remembering the pencil. "They don't seem to attack with them though. They just slash with their… fingers. Claws. Think this was done by a person."

"Yeah," agreed Betsy, grimly. "Looks like it. So – who are we looking for?"

Verity returned the gaze uncomfortably. "I-"

She was cut off by the sound of the auto-doc opening, and started towards the door hurriedly.

Boone was being helped out of the auto-doc by Charlie, one of his arms thrown across her shoulders. Verity's eyes narrowed slightly, but her face broke into a relieved smile as Boone looked up at her.

"Jesus," she said, stumbling forward, reaching her hands out for him. "I was worried you weren't gonna-"

He took a step away from Charlie, taking her hands in his. "Wasn't gonna leave you," he said. "Not like that."

"You almost-" Her anger and fear was boiling up to the surface, but she pressed her lips together to cut off the rebuke. "I'm glad you're okay," she said instead. "I was – scared."

His hands tightened almost imperceptibly around hers. "You don't need to be," he said.

"So where to now?" Charlie asked loudly. "You guys find a way out of this place yet?"

"N-not quite," said Ten. "But we found a nuclear missile instead."

Charlie's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"We th-think it was set up for launch," Ten continued.

"Didn't know about this?" Verity asked.

Charlie looked at her sideways. "Obviously I didn't have access to everything. But – we knew there was – something like this here. Didn't know goddamn anyone could waltz on in here and set it off though. Or that the Divide was this – inhabited."

Verity sighed. "Alright. I gotta level with you. There's someone here."

"What do you mean?"

For some reason she didn't want to share him, wanted to keep him a secret. 'From – my past," she forced out. "He knew me before I came to the Mojave."

"What the hell?!" Charlie had taken a step towards her, blue eyes flashing.

"Charlie," began Boone.

"No, this is bullshit," said Charlie. "We risk our goddamn asses breaking her out of NCR jail, and now we're travelling through the fucking Divide to visit an old friend of hers. _No_."

Verity's eyes glittered. "Feel free to strike out on your own," she said. "Not gonna keep you if you have somewhere better to be." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ten back out of the room hurriedly.

Charlie's lip curled in anger. "That's just the thing," she said. "I don't have anywhere better to be. I can't go back home, can't see my family again, because I am a goddamn traitor to my country." She took a step towards Verity. "You don't fucking get it, do you? We've given up everything. For you. For _this_. It's bullshit."

"Look, thanks for the assist," said Verity caustically. "I appreciate it. But why the fuck did you come on this fucking trip if you didn't even want to?!"

"I didn't do it for _you_," she snarled, matching Verity's tone. "I did it for _him_."

Verity's eyes flicked towards Boone, who had frozen. She took a deep breath. "What." The word was more a statement of anger and disbelief rather than a question. "Is there something I don't know about going on here?" she asked through clenched teeth.

Boone looked stricken, almost as shocked as Verity felt. "No," he said.

"You treat him like shit," Charlie continued, taking a step towards her. "You take him for granted. He'd do anything for you, and you just walk all over him."

Verity sneered. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about," she said.

"He dropped literally everything to come out here and save you. And you're just like 'Oh, okay, thanks.' It takes a lot to make someone like Craig turn his back on his country. You don't know what the fuck you're doing."

"'Craig'," repeated Verity savagely. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She dropped her hand to the pistol at her side.

"He deserves better," said Charlie, stubbornly.

"And that's going to be you?" Verity snarled.

"I didn't say-"

"Charlie." Boone's voice was strained. "Drop it. Please."

Charlie bit her lip, eyes wide, like a child being told off. "Fine," she said.

"Hey!" Ten appeared in the doorway. "I found an emergency e-exit. There are tunnels right out of here."

Charlie turned on her heel and walked out of the room. The rest followed.

The tunnels were cold, water leaking down the damp concrete walls and pooling under their feet. The splash of their footsteps echoed in the uncomfortable silence.

Verity could see daylight. She began to walk faster, desperate to be out of the cold dark tunnel.

Boone grabbed a fistful of uniform just as she was about to step out into the dim half-light, and yanked her back. Her eyes widened as she looked down. The tunnel just – stopped, about 30 feet above the ground. This wasn't an exit, it was just where the escape route had been sheared off.

Below was an entire skyscraper lying on its side, broken windows staring up at the sky, beams and struts protruding at odd angles like shattered bones. Through the windows she could see furniture lying against the wall of the building inside – it seemed to have been a block of apartments, beds and shards of mirror and vanity dressing tables lying scattered against the faded floral wallpaper beneath.

They seemed to be in a deep crevice, rough cliff walls rising all around them. At least they were low enough now to miss the worst of the Divide's winds.

"Only one way to go," said Betsy, and turned around to climb carefully down the rough cliff face.

They lowered themselves down slowly.

"Okay," said Verity, when they were all standing on the side of the building. "Let's follow this-" The world exploded, swallowing the rest of her sentence; blinding her; deafening her. When she opened her eyes she was staring at the sky. She moved her head to look around. The members of First Recon were lying flat on their stomachs, rifles propped against the sloping roof and heads kept down.

Boone, as if he could sense her gaze, turned back. He said something she couldn't hear, her ears still ringing, and turned back. She could see the kick of his rifle as he fired, and then suddenly they were pushing themselves away from the edge, scrambling to get out of the way. Verity was still watching when the whole building shook, a bloom of flame bursting on the building's edge.

Betsy and Boone exchanged a quick glance. Betsy shook her head and motioned downward. Boone nodded in response.

"_Come on_."

Verity could see Boone's lips moving. He gestured downwards, movements large and exaggerated.

"_Get inside_."

Verity got to her hands and knees, keeping her head down. She scrambled over to a window far enough away to put a couple of walls in between her and the rockets.

She dropped inside.

The interior of the building was cool and quiet. Verity continued to huddle in a corner as more blasts shook the building, and didn't move until the explosions stopped. She looked around. In the dimness, she couldn't see much more than the peeling wallpaper she was standing on, and a pile of furniture down the other end of the room.

Verity stood up, flicked the switch to a lamp experimentally, but nothing happened. Might still be power, though. She'd be careful.

She saw a dark flicker in the doorway, and tensed, hand on her pistol.

"Are you okay?" Boone asked. She could mostly hear him this time.

"Yeah," she said. "Just got knocked off my feet." She looked down at herself in the low light slanting in through the broken window. The front of the NCR uniform she was wearing was charred, but seemed to have protected her from the worst of the blast. "You?"

She could see the light reflect off his sunglasses. "Can't even tell how many there are out there," he said, his voice low. "Low visibility. They know where we are, we can't see where they are."

"Did you see them?" Verity asked.

He shook his head. "Might be heading for us now," he said. "Can't stay here. Let's keep moving."

She followed him, feeling her way around furniture and through doorways. The others were waiting outside the door. She couldn't hear anything except their breathing in the dark enclosed space, the howling of the wind outside dampened by the concrete shell around them.

The wall underneath them creaked with their footsteps, and there was a gentle give to it as they walked. They kept their lights off in the darkness, trying to move without being spotted, barely able to see the outline of the doors as they dropped away under their feet. Verity could feel the slow descent of their path as they walked down towards the other end of the building.

"Can you s-see anything?" asked Ten. "My e-eyes aren't so good in the dark."

"Straight along this corridor," said Betsy. "I think I see light at the bottom. Not a direct way out, but we should be able to find something."

There was a splintering noise under their feet. Verity looked down, too slowly, to see the wallpaper split open beneath her as the wall gave way. She reached out her arms, desperately, but only managed to brush the tips of her fingers against the rough fabric of an NCR uniform before she was falling.

The sound of smashing wood and tearing wallpaper filled her ears as she fell backwards, flailing her arms as she tried to grasp onto something, anything. Something struck her back hard before giving way in turn, and then she was jerked to an unsteady halt. She could feel plaster dust and bone-dry chips of wood settle on her skin. She lay where she was for a moment, dazed.

"Verity!" Boone was calling from the floor above. "Verity?"

She tried to move, but her hands were restricted somehow. She attempted to sit up, and then figured it out – she was hanging, caught up in the tangle of wiring that ran through the walls. She couldn't see anything below her; the few rays of light that were able to penetrate the building not reaching down far enough.

"Y-yeah," she called back. "I'm okay. Just – stuck."

"Stay there. Coming down."

She shifted uncomfortably in the wires, not sure if it was safe to change her balance. She managed – gently – to detangle a hand, and let it rest on her stomach. It hadn't even begun to swell yet. For a moment, she almost felt like crying. This is what she was – a thoughtless, careless piece of wasteland trash. She wasn't going to cope. She couldn't.

"Sorry," she whispered, into the dark.

A tiny noise below her made her freeze. It was just a slight rustle, a shift of weight, maybe. Far too quiet and far too early for it to be Boone. She looked down, the wires creaking alarmingly as she moved.

She could see tiny, glowing, marks, quivering in the blackness. The breath caught in her throat. The points bobbed gently as they moved towards her.

She couldn't tell if she was far away enough to be out of reach, and she wrapped her hands around the tangle of cables tightly, desperate to hold onto something. Her pistol was no longer in its holster. It must have fallen down to the floor below. She stifled a sob.

The radio at her hip crackled loudly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she asked, before she realised he couldn't hear.

"You're alone now, Courier," he said.

She wriggled a hand down to the radio to toggle the speaker. "Fuck off!" she said.

The glowing tips were circling beneath her. She could see the faint reflection of the creature's eyes in the darkness. It was too low – just. If it stood up, it wouldn't be able to reach her by at least three feet. Unless it jumped. She tried to curl up to be as small as possible.

"What are these things?" she asked.

"The monsters? They chew through the earth, eat away beneath until the land collapses on itself. They're tunnelers. Their territory spans hundreds of miles. Day'll come they erupt from the earth, overrun whatever cities remain."

"What do you fucking want?" she snapped.

"You've started building again, Courier. What fate will befall your city that you rule?" She frowned. She thought she could identify the reasons for the harsh rasp of his voice – it was rusty with disuse.

"You wrought the destruction that came to this place, Courier. This is all because of you."

"I did this?" she asked. "Uh – I think you might have the wrong person."

Another tunneler had joined the first. It reared back on its back legs to get a better view of her. She shied away.

"I watched your footsteps as you carried your message here, and then again as you walked away, before the fires took hold and erased all there was."

"I barely even remember this place," she said. "I mean, I gather it looks different now, but seriously? Not ringing any bells."

"You could forget your home this easily?" he asked. "That must be some comfort to you – to forget your mistakes, your mis-steps. To ignore the destruction that follows in your wake."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, a panicked edge to her voice.

"You brought devastation with you when you travelled. A package."

"What was it?"

"A – device. A machine. It – resonated with the sleeping giants beneath the surface. Woke them up. And when they did – it changed everything."

"Does it matter that it was me that brought it here, then?" she asked. "It could have been anyone else. It could have been you."

"You can't escape your role in this that easily, Courier," he said. "You were the one who carried it here."

"I mean, have you heard the phrase 'don't shoot the messenger'?" she asked. "Because this is literally the exact situation it was invented for."

"Messengers carry more than their packages, Courier."

"Well, yes," she said. "I mean, I have a gun on me most of the time."

"Not what I'm talking about. Earn your answers, Courier. Keep walking."

"No," she complained. "I'm not done. How do I know you?"

There was a long silence.

"I'm surprised you don't remember," he said, eventually. "You always held on to things so tightly. Looking for meaning anywhere you could find something. Searching for scraps. Seeing importance in the way the sand falls."

"I got shot in the head for a bit," she explained, with a hint of bitterness.

"I know, Courier."

"_How_ do you know?" she snapped, irritated. "Have you been following me?"

"Sometimes, Courier," he said. "_You've_ been following _me_."

"Okay, cut this cryptic shit," she said. "Who are you?"

"You know my name, Courier."

"No I d-" She broke off. She _did_ know his name. It had been buried, deep in her subconscious, but she remembered Christine's holotapes, the name given to her like a gift. She closed her eyes. "Ulysses." Saying the word made her feel foolish, in a way, like she was playing along with his games.

"Who fought to unite a country," he said. "Who gave everything he had until he had no more left."

"That your real name?" she asked.

"As much as yours is."

She closed her eyes. "So how do you know me? What do you want?"

There was another long pause.

"You already know, Courier, how well couriers go undetected. How invisible they are. Thought you were Legion for a long time. Thought I saw a pattern, at first. Maybe just wanted to. After a while, things stopped making sense and I saw what you really were. Soft. Weak. A slave to your passions."

"Why would you think I would ever be Legion?"

"Your name, Courier. Do you know what it means?"

"My name?"

"Veritas."

Verity frowned at the soft v, the sound of the word in his mouth, like her name had been taken apart and put back together wrong. "What's that?" she asked, reluctantly.

"It means 'truth'," he said. "When all you've done is hide from it."

"I fucking _haven't_,"she said. "You're crazy! You just don't want to face that life can be incredibly cruel and random and you're trying to pin the blame for the whole thing on me. You're not making any sense."

"You'll understand soon enough, Courier," he said. "Go."

He was gone.

Through a broken window, high above, flickers of light caught her eye. A barrage of flares had been shot high into the sky. As she watched, they began to twist and fall lazily, spiralling down towards her. Some bounced off the building itself, some off the floors above, but one – just one – fell all the way down to the darkness below, lighting up the room.

The tunnelers vanished, melting away into the darkness. She was alone.

* * *

We're kind of only just touching the surface of Ulysses here. DIALOGUE BOSS BATTLE (as all boss battles should be) IMMINENT.


	69. In Dixieland

For some reason the only ads I seem to get on this site are for people with meth addictions :( WHAT ARE YOU SAYING

I'm still struggling a little with Ulysses. He's _hard_, dammit.

* * *

Verity strained in the nest of cabling, trying to see where the tunnelers had gone. There was a gaping black hole in the corner of the room that they seemed to have disappeared into, the darkness impenetrable by the flickering red light. Her eyes dropped to the flare just beneath her, and she stared at it, frowning. Ulysses knew where she was. Exactly where she was. How? Thinking back on it, she wasn't even sure she'd seen the flare fall along with the rest of the others, her vision streaked with smears of dark after-images in the wake of the shower of light.

With a crack, the creaking cables finally gave way, dropping her onto a pile of books lying on the wallpapered wall below. For a moment she froze, terrified that she'd hurt herself in the fall, but when nothing hurt after a couple of seconds she scrambled to her hands and knees. She picked up the flare with shaking hands, holding it like a weapon.

"Where are you?" she asked, out loud, carefully. Was he in the same building? Was he close enough to hear her speak?

"Here," said a voice behind her.

She shrieked, and spun around, brandishing the flare at the darkness.

"It's me," said Boone, holding a hand up defensively.

"Fuck!" she yelled, lowering the flare. "Shit."

He shushed her gently. "Come on," he said. "You can walk along this floor to get out."

"He's here!" said Verity urgently, her eyes wide.

"Where?" asked Boone, casting a glance around the dim room. This far down the wallpaper was almost rotting, scratches and gouges scraping along the carpet as it disappeared into the black hole in the corner of the room.

"I don't… know," she said. "Somewhere."

He blinked at her. "Okay," he said, finally. "That doesn't matter. We need to get out of this building. Now."

"I –" she began. He boosted her up to climb out of the door and then followed himself. Verity walked more carefully this time, testing each step gently before putting her weight on it.

"W-what's it like outside? On the ground?" she asked, holding the sputtering flare tightly in her hands.

It was a moment before he replied, their footsteps rustling on the peeling wallpaper as they walked. "I don't know what happened here," he said. "I don't understand it."

"Ulysses says it's my fault," she said.

"Ulysses," he repeated distractedly, checking behind them for signs of movement.

"Christine said something about him," she replied. "It seems like that was – that was years…" Her head was beginning to pound painfully.

She stumbled over something on the floor and almost fell. She looked down. In the flickering red light she could see it was a cracked gilded picture frame. The painting of the woman inside looked up at her accusingly through the shattered glass.

"Stay with me," Boone breathed."We need to keep moving".

The sensation of walking sideways was throwing her balance off as she tried to keep up, stumbling after him. The flare in her hands was burning low, sputtering as it burnt itself out.

Verity shook it, once, hopefully, which made it seem to burn brighter for a moment before it once again began to fade. She looked behind her uneasily into the murky blackness as the light finally died. She thought she could see a quivering glowing mark in the darkness. She took a step back, reaching behind her for Boone.

The crack of a rifle outside made him freeze. The answering whine of automatic fire had him running for the end of the hallway.

Verity followed, casting frantic glances over her shoulder where she could. Light was beginning to slant in through the crumbling window frames as she got closer to the other end of the hall, although it seemed to be dimmer than previously. She checked her pip-boy for the time. The sun was setting. The tunnelers behind them weren't yet prepared to follow them into the remaining sunlight, but after dark – she wasn't sure how safe they'd be from them.

At the end of the corridor First Recon was sheltering, still in the corridor, behind the wall of a room. They were crouching rifles held in their hands, clustered around the doorway. Verity could see that they were almost at ground level. Outside, the surface was rocky and uneven, boulders littering the valley floor. The apartment room in front of them was crumbling, the external wall wide-open and exposed.

Boone stopped, and crouched next to Betsy. "What's the situation?"

"Fucked," Betsy replied bitterly. "We're pinned down. Grenade might be helpful." She looked around hopefully at the others.

Verity grimaced, remembering a shelf of grenades in the missile silo she'd briefly considered and then passed over.

"No?" Betsy continued. "Great." She grimaced. "Maybe – if we head back up the corridor a ways, we'd get more of a height advantage. We're giving too much away here."

"It's quiet," said Charlie, her voice low. "They haven't been firing."

"Shit," said Betsy. "Okay, let's head back up-"

The roar of a chainsaw swallowed the rest of her sentence, far too loud and far too close. Betsy's eyes widened in alarm, and she waved the others back.

The hallway was suddenly filled with fire, the dry wallpaper peeling up in crisp burnt strips as it was licked by flame.

Verity backed up the hallway, into the darkness, grasping behind her for a doorway she could slip into.

Charlie was crouched, coiled, ready to spring. As soon as the wall of flame died down, she took a step up, wielding her rifle like a club. As the first man stepped through the doorway, she smashed the butt of the rifle into his skull. The flamer fell from his hands. Charlie hit him once more, before leaping back and aiming the rifle at his skull. The shot was painfully loud in the narrow hallway.

Verity retreated into another room, hoping to find something heavy enough to use as a weapon – her empty hands were making her anxious. She crouched to the ground, not willing to turn on her pip-boy light to draw attention – and felt around her with her hands. The wallpaper under her fingers was loose and tattered, a musty smell rising as she disturbed the dust that had been sitting on its surface. Her hands closed on the leg of a chair. Wincing, she stood back up, lifted the chair over her head and then smashed it against the ground. It shattered, wood splintering around the room, and left her with a decently heavy length of wood in her hands.

The high-pitched growl of the chainsaw in the hallway almost made her drop it again. What was a goddamn stick going to do against that? She backed further into the darkness and took shelter behind an upturned sofa, pressing herself against the wall.

She could hear the roar of the flames in the hall; see the flickering light through the doorway. It dimmed for a moment as a silhouette hesitated at the door for a moment, before climbing into the room. Verity froze.

His boots made a solid thunk as they landed on the floor. He took a step towards her. There was gunfire outside, but she barely noticed. Could he see a reflection of the fire in her eyes? Should she close them? Her heart was pounding. She narrowed her eyes to thin slits, just in case he could see the gleam in the darkness. She ran her hand along the chair leg she was clutching tightly in her hands. It was smooth and round, but one end of it was splintered and sharp.

He took another step into the room. She wasn't sure if he knew where she was – or even if he knew she was there at all. Her pulse began to slow a little. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth to make less noise, huddling against the sofa and trying to make herself as small as possible.

Wordless, he moved further into the room. His footsteps, heavy on the wall beneath, made her flinch with each step. His tread was slow and measured, and she could hear his breathing, rapid and uneven. He knew she was there. He knew. He must have seen her climb inside, away from the others. Alone.

He was getting closer. If she didn't move soon, he was going to find her.

She sprang up, holding the chair leg tightly in both hands, and thrust it upwards.

She felt the weapon catch, and then suddenly release again, tearing through flesh. A rush of warm liquid washed over her hands. She kept pushing, almost face-to-face with the man. She could see the outline of his ruined flesh in the light of the fire, the faint reflection in his wide-open eyes. She gritted her teeth and shoved upwards again. His hands grasped her wrists feebly, open and closing; his breath hot on her face. She shoved him with all the strength she could muster, and he fell back against the floor, chest rattling with each breath. She waited for him to stop moving before stepping over him. He never made a sound. She swallowed thickly, wiping her hands on her uniform, trying to forget the feeling of blood running over her hands.

The flames in the hallway were climbing higher, but the men attacking them had all fallen, some outside the building, and some – with a jolt, she saw one of them in the light for the first time. The soldier she'd seen in the missile silo earlier hadn't been skinned – they all looked like that. She leant closer, hesitantly, desperate to avoid touching him.

"Is it – a ghoul?" she asked.

"No time," said Boone, tersely. "Need to evacuate. This way."

She followed him as he led her to the window, and kicked out sharp points of broken glass in the window frame before sliding through and dropping to the ground.

She turned back to watch the others climb out, as thick black smoke began to rise up into the sky. Maybe she did leave destruction in her wake. She felt her shoulders tense.

Betsy made a beeline for one of the fallen men and picked up his weapon.

"Oh hell yeah," she said, hefting the huge gun onto her shoulder. "Kind of always wanted something like this." Her footsteps were careful and measured under the weight of the huge machine gun. "Not much this can't take down," she continued.

"Really?" asked Ten. "I th-thought you were more subtle than that."

Betsy grinned. "You telling me I can still surprise you after all these years? That's awful sweet of you."

Ten returned the smile. "Maybe I should treat you better. W-we could go out to dinner – I could even warm up an MRE for you."

Betsy laughed. "I love you, kid, but you're not my type."

Verity was looking up at the sky, the billowing smoke rising up into the sky like – she frowned. They looked like _clouds_, melding into the sandstorm overhead.

She backed away from the smouldering building, fumbling for the radio at her side.

"Ulysses," she said, almost breathlessly. "This place. This place! The thing that was special about it. The sandstorm – it wasn't always like this here, was it? No one can live in this."

She heard the click as he hit the button to speak, but he didn't speak. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

"No, Courier," he said. "It wasn't always like this."

She remembered turning her face to the sky, a cool breeze on her face – and then drops of water.

"It used to rain here," she said. "Didn't it? That's what made it different."

Another sigh. "Yes," he said. "Rain. A town that didn't rely on water caravans or ancient wells to survive. A town that could stand on its own."

"How?" Verity asked, her forehead wrinkling. "Why here?"

"The gods of the Big Empty – they spoke about it with me. 'An experiment', they said. _Ionisation_. The smell of ozone, the crackle of lightning. As if the lives they had held in their hands were nothing more than toys. After – after what you did, the _experiment_ died along with everyone else. This is all that remains."

"The gods of what?" asked Verity, before she'd really had a chance to process what he had said. "Wait, an experiment? Do you mean, like, Klein and Dala and the rest?"

His chuckle was harsh and bitter. "You've spoken with them too? I can't say I'm surprised. They are sick, infected with all that was wrong with the old world."

"They're pretty fucked," Verity agreed. "Whole lot of them were a bundle of neuroses. Fucking _Borous_."

There was a pause on the other end of the radio. "Did they mark you, Courier?"

"Uh, they cut my brain out. I got it back, though. And my heart and spine."

"Not – like that. What did you take from the Big Empty?"

Verity frowned at the radio. He'd sounded almost – uncertain. "A couple of weird guns and a massive dog?"

"What _lessons_ did you learn from your time there?" There was a thread of irritation running through his voice.

"I'm sorry," said Verity. "I feel like I should have studied for this. Wasn't aware there was going to be a test on it later."

There was nothing but silence over the radio.

A memory of a conversation sparked in the back of her mind. "Who are you," she asked. "That do not know your history?"

Another weary laugh. "Very good, Courier. You've been taking notes. The machines talked in circles. After I asked them to answer that question – they came alive. Remembered what they'd lost. Told me about the past. What used to be called 'America'."

"What did they say?" asked Verity.

"They told me about hopes, about dreams – the land which they grew into, and the way it died. It's your turn to answer a question, Courier."

She took a deep breath. "I-" she began, hesitantly. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping it would let her concentrate better. "I learnt that even when you've lost everything – there's hope. That help can be found in the unlikeliest of places .That sometimes you have to do what is _right_, instead of what is easy. That people can be cruel in horrific ways. That – that sometimes – no matter what your intentions are – there can be horrible consequences. That you can lose sight of how bad the things you are doing is, if you're too focused on one thing." She licked her dry lips. "Is that enough for you yet?" she asked, her voice hoarse. "I can probably think up more."

"Keep walking, Courier," was her only answer.

* * *

Ps. The ionisation thing is totally legit. Well, it's my best guess as to what was going on in that weather station and what they were trying to achieve. And kind of doesn't work in real life (YET) but that's beside the point.

Thanks for reading!


	70. I Take My Stand

It's been a while. Sorry about that. It's been hard to find the time (and/or energy) lately :( also too much drinking. Shh.

There's a couple things I want to say - the first is that both this story and 'If I Didn't Care' have both reached over 60 000 hits (wtf) and interestingly, this story has recently overtaken IIDC in hits numbers.

The second is that the hotel I reference in this chapter is a real place (as I think I told Nicole Richner once?) and I want to go there more than anything.

Chapter 70! Dear christ.

* * *

Boone was walking towards her. She dropped the radio into her pocket, feeling strangely guilty.

"What did he say?" Boone asked. The flames were licking the building behind him, outlining his silhouette.

Verity licked her dry lips. "He-" she began. "I don't even know what he wants."

She couldn't see Boone's eyes in the darkening night. "_Think_," he said, with an edge to his voice. "The memories are there. You just have to go looking for them. You've been hiding everything for so long, even from yourself."

"But I don't-" She pressed her lips together tightly. Boone's expression hadn't changed, his mouth tight and his shoulders tense.

"Who is he?" Boone asked. "To you."

She closed her eyes, the after-images from the fire dancing behind her eyelids. The fire…

_She is sitting at a campfire, watching the man opposite her through the flames. His eyes are clear and intense, burning as the fire between them._

"_Where are you from?" he asks._

"_Out west," she says, staring into the flames. Her arms are wrapped around herself in the cool night air. She edges a little closer to the fire, even though she's sitting close enough for the heat to be almost painful. Back freezing, front roasting. She shifts uncomfortably._

"_No," he says. "I mean, where did you come from?"_

_She looks up uneasily, her eyes huge and uncertain. He sits watching her, face neutral._

_She looks away. "I was in a gang," she mumbled. "It wasn't a very good one. Got everyone killed, and then – went out on the road."_

_He doesn't react like she's expecting, just sitting there calmly, face neutral. She feels like she needs to keep talking to fill the empty space in the air._

"_I-" she begins. "I – since I left – I've met a lot of – I don't know. People. That – I think – I might've-" She bites down hard on her lip, frowning, and starts again, choosing her words carefully and speaking clearly. "People like those I might have met – in other circumstances – as part of my old life. And it – it – Christ, they're just trying to get by." Her mouth snaps shut and she stares into the flames._

_His gaze slides away from hers, into the fire. "We all have things we've done in our pasts that we're not proud of."_

Verity pressed the tips of her fingers into her eyes, hard. "What?" she said, out loud. "What does-"

She opened her eyes. Boone was watching her closely.

"I-" she began. "Alright. I think it's – when I first picked up the courier job. The first time. I didn't know what I was doing, I'd stumbled into it because it was one of the only jobs where they really just – don't look into your background. And I was – lost, I guess. Scared. And he – he saw that. I wasn't really good at hiding it."

She frowned. Her memories weren't clear, exactly, a blur of feelings and flash-frame images. Her heart was thumping unevenly in her chest.

"You made me take you somewhere," said Boone. "A while back. A little place in the Mojave. Near Nipton. That what this is about?"

Verity couldn't remember for a moment. Nipton was a swirl of ash and smoke in her brain. Not there. The path through the high hills to the east, which managed to give her an eerie feeling even after she'd eradicated the gang that had taken up living there like a mantis colony. Closer. There were caves, somewhere to the north, weren't there? Or was that getting too close to Searchlight?

There was a farm. A small farm, not a huge one like the sharecroppers worked. This one was made to feed a few people, at most. Up a small hill, pipes for irrigation gently rusting, the corn going to seed. But back then –

_She leans against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. _

"_This country needs order to survive," says Ulysses. "Like the crops." He extends an arm to point. His dark skin shines in the sunlight. "If you let it take seed wherever it falls, instead of where the ground has been prepared for it, it will wither and die."_

_She shrugs a shoulder. "People's people," she says. "You can't just round them up into straight lines and expect them to stay like that forever."_

_He doesn't reply._

"He-" Verity said, half to herself. "I _do_ know him."

Boone stood still, his face like stone. The others were beginning to walk towards them, dark blurs against the flames.

"We – I don't know," she continued, haltingly. "We met – years ago. After – after the gang had-" She bit her lip. "He was a courier. And that's how I met him, I think…" She paused again, confused. "When you're a courier, you see a lot of different people, but you gotta keep moving so you don't see the same ones that often. When you do, it's kind of – nice. Familiar. You might spend a couple days leave with them in the cities, I guess. But if you run into them on the road, you stop for the night, catch up. See what the other courier's been doing."

"_Where did your name come from?" he asks. "It's unusual."_

_She grins. "There were three of us in the village, right," she says. "All born the same day. Verity, Chastity, and Prudence. I think I got off lightly, don't you?"_

_He looks at her coolly. He doesn't believe her. But he doesn't ask any more about it._

"_So what about yours?" she asks._

_He smiles, wearily. "It's a long story," he said._

_She thinks he's going to end it there, and opens her mouth to change the subject._

"_It started a long time ago," he said. "Before the bombs fell."_

_Eyes wide, she listens._

"We need to _move_," said Betsy urgently, striding up to them. "Building's lighting up like a fucking beacon, we're gonna get swarmed if there's anything else out here."

Boone looked away. Verity felt like she'd just woken up, dazed and disoriented. Ten and Charlie followed behind Betsy, their faces tense.

"W-which way?" asked Ten, looking at Verity.

She looked back at him blankly. "Uh, I don't know?" she said. "I don't really recognise where things are meant to b-"

_She spots him from a good quarter-mile away. But he's hard to miss, with that thick knotted hair; that dark skin._

"_Hey, stranger," she says, as she walks up._ _They stand in the middle of the street between towering high rise buildings._

_He turns to her with a faint smile. "It's good to see you again," he says. He looks up at the sky, the gathering cloud. "And it's good to be here."_

_Verity looks around dubiously. "I guess," she says. "It's a decent place to stop overnight. Could do worse." There's a diner down the road she likes, and the hotel down at the end of town that she can only just afford to stay in has the softest sheets and the plumpest pillows she's ever slept on._

_He looks slightly disappointed at her words, and turns his head away._

_She feels a strange stab of guilt at having let him down somehow, but before she can say anything else, something taps her on the shoulder. She turns around. The road behind her stretches out, empty, mountains in the distance. She looks up with distaste, expecting to see a bird flying overhead, but the sky is clear and grey. Something wet hits her in the eye, and she staggers back._

"_What the fuck?" she spits out, but he just laughs. It's the happiest she's ever seen him. As she stares at him in horrified panic, more drops start to fall, spattering her face, her armour, her hands. She wipes them from her skin hurriedly._

"_Seriously, what is this?" she asks. "Am I going to die from this shit?"_

_He turns to look at her, thoughtful, maybe a little pity mixed in. "It's not going to kill you," he said. "It's rain. Have you heard of it before?"_

_All she can think of is motherfucking centaur spit, but he's not worried about getting hit so she starts to relax, slowly._

"_It's water falling from the sky," he says. "That's all. Maybe if we were closer to someplace that got hit worse by the bombs, then it might not be safe. But right here – we're just fine."_

Verity staggered as the memory faded. It was so vivid she could almost feel the water on her skin. Her head was aching, her mind racing, unable to focus. She wanted to throw up, to pass out and stop thinking. Slowly her thoughts coalesced into a goal. Med-x would fix this. Med-x. Med-x. She screwed her eyes shut.

Boone grabbed her by the shoulders, looking into her face almost guiltily. "Verity?" he asked, softly.

Med-x. Med-x. Wait, booze might be okay too.

She opened her eyes, and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," she said, faintly. "I might know where we can go. Maybe. I don't know if it's still there, or what's happened – but-" she took another laboured breath. "There used to be somewhere."

Verity took a step, then stopped. She wasn't sure how to get there. Her pip-boy wasn't much help – she hadn't had one the last time she was here, and wasn't quite confident in figuring out which way things were meant to be. It was almost pitch-black, and even sound seemed to be blunted by the cliff walls and crumbled buildings around them. She chose a direction that felt right, and they began to walk. Their pace was slow. Verity wasn't quite leading the group – Betsy was doing that, and listening to the direction Verity gave her – but she was following close behind.

Verity was wondering if she was possibly just going to get the entire group killed when Betsy waved a hand frantically for the rest of the group to stop. Verity frowned at the sudden movement. Surely that would attract more-

She froze as a huge pale figure lumbered into sight. It held its huge horned head low as it walked, limbs heavy and loose. It was moving slowly, without haste – it hadn't yet spotted them.

The last time Verity had seen a deathclaw this close up had ended with blood pouring down her back, and she could still remember the spots of grey filling up her vision. All her senses were telling her to _run_, but she knew that if she tried that she'd only get its attention. She couldn't turn her head to look behind her, but she was pretty sure that if she did, there was still nowhere to hide.

First Recon could take it on. They could. Surely. Four trained snipers versus one deathclaw. That'd probably work better if the deathclaw wasn't almost close enough to touch. The ground shuddered with each step it took.

Verity, as slowly as she could, reached down to the radio in her pocket. If Ulysses was watching her at this moment – which seemed like it could be likely – trying to contact her right now might be a good way to get her in a lot of trouble. Her fingers wrapped around the thick plastic case of the radio, and she flipped the power switch off. The click it made seemed awfully loud in the darkness.

The deathclaw seemed to stop and lift its head to smell the air. Verity's jaw clenched, her heart racing. She thought she could feel the shocked stares of those behind her on her back. After a moment, the deathclaw dropped back down, and kept walking. They stayed motionless for almost five minutes after it went by, to make sure it was gone.

"Fucking hell," Betsy said, quietly. "Picked a great moment for that."

"Sorry," said Verity, not wanting to launch into an explanation.

"Which way now?"

Verity closed her eyes, trying to summon up the image of what the town she knew used to look like. Hope. Hope…town? Hopeton? She shook her head, frustrated at her inability to remember. It seemed so close, always dancing around the edges of her memory.

"Let's keep going," she said.

It was a long shot, she knew that much. The hotel that she'd used to stay in had flashed briefly but powerfully into her mind. And judging by the look of this place, she'd be lucky if it hadn't been smashed into dust.

As they walked, every so often they head some kind of scuffling in the darkness – too light for any more deathclaws, too inconsistent for human footsteps. Verity itched to turn her pip-boy light on, to hold her arm up and shine light deep into the crevices of the unnatural valley they walked, but knew this would only draw further attention.

And then she saw it. It was a simple sign, black lettering on white. The Amargosa. The building was sloping slightly, perched on a chunk of rock that seemed to have slid down into the valley rather than dropped, so looked to be in decent shape.

Despite the dark it was visible, the white adobe walls almost glowing in the dimness. Verity began to walk faster, the others trailing in her wake, and she began to clamber up the rough slope of fallen rock. She could hear Boone's breathing close behind her, the others further back as they made their way up the treacherous surface.

Verity reached to the door, and threw it open in glee and relief.

It was dark inside. She switched her pip-boy light on, eagerly, and then – stopped. The room hadn't been badly damaged, although most of the furniture except for the huge wooden reception desk had slid to one side of the room. A pile of bones were lying in one corner. They were damaged so badly that it wasn't possible to make an entire skeleton out of them.

"O-oh," said Verity. The breath caught in her throat. It was a ruin. Dead.

Her mouth was dry. Of course it was. It'd been dead ever – ever since that day she'd walked into town and left the detonator behind.

She didn't know what she'd been expecting – she knew the lights wouldn't have been on, the owner standing behind the counter ready to welcome her, but… she cast another look at the bones in the corner. _That's her._ Verity tried to crush the thought, but it bubbled up anyway. _That's Marta. That's the woman that would hand you a key and wish you a good night. _

Her mouth had gone dry.

She flinched when Boone touched her lightly on the back, as if his touch was an electric shock.

"Verity." The sound of his voice was familiar and reassuring. "Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, as the door opened and the others came in wearily.

"Yeah." She swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm – okay."


	71. To Live and Die

It feels like I've been away forEVER.

Happy motherfucking Christmas.

* * *

The hotel didn't have power. That wasn't really a surprise. They lit their way with flares and Verity's pip-boy light.

Verity couldn't figure out where the hotel had slipped from; the geography of it. It was like a puzzle she couldn't put back together.

All the keys to the rooms were in a pile at the bottom of the sloping room. Verity dug through them, her fingers clumsy and numb.

Room 1. Room 2. She was sorting them into piles, but the numbers stopped making sense. 25. 26.

There was a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back. Ten took her place and picked out a handful of keys. She stared at them dully as he offered one of the keys first to her, then Boone. Boone picked one up.

"Come on," he said quietly. She didn't move until he took her arm gently and led her towards the door, just to the left of the desk.

The door was jammed slightly, due to the floor warping and buckling, and Boone yanked it open with a grunt.

One wall of the corridor they stepped into was painted with human figures in a garden; leaping, dancing, their bodies seeming to move with every flicker of light. "The hell is that?" asked Betsy, quietly, eyeing the mural.

"She liked to paint," said Verity indistinctly. "You should see the theatre, there's a whole – whole painted audience." Her feet seemed heavy as she dragged them down the empty hallway

She hadn't noticed that Boone had taken a key until a hand closed around her arm. He blinked up at him tiredly.

"Come on," he said gently.

The lock opened with a gentle click, and Boone pushed the door open. Inside it was dark, but pristine. Perfect - and thankfully empty of bones. The walls were still white and clean, the carpet plush beneath their feet. There was a door to the left for the bathroom, and a large bed to the right, covered in a red bedspread, white sheets neatly tucked in. A large window was set into the back wall. With the curtains drawn, the desolation outside couldn't be seen. Verity sat down on a high-backed chair, and stared at the blankness of the television, the shadows huge and exaggerated in the small room. She slid her hands into her pockets. She'd seen med-x recently - but couldn't remember where. Had she picked it up? Her hands closed around the radio. She switched it on, almost automatically, and kept searching. Nothing else. She pressed her fingers deeper into her pockets, hoping that the syringe was just behind a fold of material. But - her pockets were empty. She closed her eyes.

"Verity."

She looked up. Boone was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her closely.

Her eyes flicked to the mini-bar, then back to the television. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Boone tense, just slightly, his shoulders stiffening.

"It-" she began, then stopped. Her tongue was heavy, the amount of effort it took to form sentences in her head and force them out of her mouth almost insurmountable. She took a shaky breath.

"He says I did it," she said, dully. "All of this. Destroyed everything."

He leaned forward. "And you believed him?"

She turned her head towards him once more. His green eyes were narrowed. "Y-yes," she said, uncertainly.

"Why?" Boone asked bluntly.

She didn't have an answer. "I – he wouldn't-"

"Lot of people you trust can end up lying to you," he said, the faintest hint of bitterness colouring his voice.

She blinked at him, trying to clear away the fog. "He – he said I delivered a detonator. Here. And it blew everything up."

"Even if that's true, you couldn't know that would happen."

"I told him that," she said haltingly. "The agency's meant to do the due diligence. Have insurance. Make sure a package isn't going to explode suddenly and unexpectedly. The courier's meant to pick it up and drop it off. But – it still happened. I knew these people. Some of these people. I can't just – just say 'well, wasn't my fault,' and forget about it."

She slumped back down in her chair, exhausted.

Boone studied her for a minute before speaking. "Come to bed," he said.

She closed her eyes. "I don't want to just - forget about this." She frowned. "Well, I do, but–" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She noticed Boone relax, slightly, as she turned to face him properly. She pulled her feet up under her with a twinge of guilt.

"I've done a lot of bad things," she said. "Most of them were petty and stupid and hurt people for selfish reasons. This – I can barely even comprehend-" She glanced towards the window again, thinking of the crumbling roads, the broken buildings. "Even if it was just a – a horrible accident – people died. A city died. And even if I didn't mean to - the damage is done anyway. No one's responsible? I just-" she covered her eyes. "How can it just be an accident if everyone's dead? How can I just – just say, 'hey, it's not my fault'?"

She stared into Boone's eyes, not quite sure what she was looking for. The faint pucker of his brow sent a stab of guilt through her, and she looked down, letting her shoulders sink.

"I don't know," she said, dully. "This doesn't feel real. Like it's a set up. Like it's an-"

Ambush had been what she was going to say, but she closed her mouth with a frown instead. Boone seemed to notice, but didn't ask about it. "Come to bed," he said, again, and for the first time, she saw how tired he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes, and stubble shadowed his jaw.

She winced. "Okay," she said.

She watched him as he lifted the heavy NCR jacket over his head, then carefully begin to undo the buttons on his shirt. After a moment she began to follow suit. It was a relief to finally have the weight of the heavy uniform off her shoulders; the cool, stale air on her skin. She climbed in between the bedsheets, curled up, and closed her eyes. The last thing she felt was Boone's arm around her before she fell, almost immediately, into a deep sleep.

She woke up late the next morning, dim light shining through the cracks in the curtains. The white roof above had a thick crack running diagonally across it. For a moment, she tried to imagine that she was in the hotel back before everything had happened, that she was a courier carrying a package across the state, that she'd only stopped here for one night and had to get moving.

She couldn't. The memories were like snapshots in her mind, stills from a holotape. Like they were someone else's memories entirely.

She pushed back the covers and stood up, grimacing as a wave of dizziness hit her. She reached out a hand and grabbed the wall for support. Grey spots started to crowd in on her vision, and she sat back down on the bed heavily.

It was too much to hope for that Boone hadn't noticed. "You okay?" he asked.

She turned to see him looking up at her with concern. "Stood up too fast," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."

He sat up, covers falling down his bare chest. "Is it - the baby?" he asked.

She frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. Nothing feels - wrong."

He didn't look reassured." We shouldn't be here," he said." It's not good for you. There has to be another way out."

She sighed. "I know," she admitted. "I'm starting to get scared. I don't know where we can go, though. We can't go back the way we came."

He reached out and touched her back lightly with his fingertips. She shivered at the contact on her bare skin. "I didn't want any of this to happen," she said.

"Verity," said Boone quietly. "I don't know if we're all going to get out of this alive. There's something – so wrong with this place. Those soldiers last night-"

Verity clenched her jaw. "We're going to get out," she said. "I'm going to make sure of it."

She gave his hand a squeeze and stood up. She didn't even sway. She stumbled into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She almost took a step back. Her face was pale, her eyes weary and her eye sockets dark. Her skin was covered in faint scratches - she realised it must have been from the sandstorm. She reached down and twisted the handle of the faucet with one hand. To her surprise, a trickle of water dribbled out. The Amargosa must have had its own water supply. She closed her eyes. Of course, a lot of the town had kept their own water tanks, making the most of the rain that fell so regularly. She eyed the shower thoughtfully. It couldn't hurt to try.

The water that spilled out of the shower head was cold, but that didn't matter. She ducked under the cool stream gratefully, washing days' worth of grime from her skin. The cold water seemed to clear her head, a little, and she leaned against the cool tiles, trying to think of their next move.

Get home.

Get out of this valley. Any means possible. Forget about the mystery of Ulysses. He wasn't important. She didn't have to chase a madman across the ruins of a city. She didn't have to find out what had happened here. What she did have to do was go home. Take care of her city.

A hiss of static from the bedroom yanked her out of her thoughts.

"What the hell do you want?" she heard Boone snarl.

She leaped out of the shower, not even bothering to grab a towel, heart thundering in her chest. She threw open the door. Boone was holding the radio in one hand, his eyes dark. He didn't look up as she entered.

"You're the last remnants of the Bear in this place," said Ulysses. His voice was more curious than condescending. Thoughtful. "Everything else has been scrubbed clean by the sands, even the souls trapped here by wind and madness."

"Who are you?" growled Boone. "Your name sounds Legion."

There was a pause. Verity frowned in confusion at Boone as the silence grew.

"Once-" he began. "I walked under the banner of the Bull. Carried the flag, hidden, across the West, through cities living and dead. Taking tribes apart, piece by piece."

"You- what?" Verity asked, confusion softening her voice. She took hold of the radio gently, lifting it from Boone's fingers.

"You may have seen what Caesar does to tribes," said Ulysses, his voice weary. "He breaks them irrevocably and remakes them according to his will. The members of the tribe lose themselves in the Legion, then help to break the next tribe in the way they were broken."

"Are you saying," she said. "That you went along with this?"

He sighed. "There are – fewer options than one might expect when faced with the ire of the Legion," he said wryly. "In time, it becomes second nature."

Verity narrowed her eyes. "Are you working with that dog head hat guy?" she asked. "Because you should know, he's not going to be coming back."

"Vulpes?" He sounded surprised.

Verity felt a thrill of savage glee that she'd startled him. "Yeah, I think he said his name was something like that."

"You would do well not to underestimate him," said Ulysses. She thought she detected a note of uncertainty in his voice."

"Yeah," said Verity, drawing the word out. "Not really worried. Couple of the guys brought him in. He said you guys had Joshua Graham. I didn't believe him. Shot him in the face. You know anything else about that?"

There was a long pause.

"The man that I knew would not allow himself to be taken if he was uncertain about the outcome," he said, finally.

"Guess I don't stick to the script," Verity said.

"We need to get out of here," Boone put a hand on her arm, his voice low. "I don't know what kind of history you two have had, but this needs to end now. It's too dangerous to be here."

Ulysses had heard. "There is no way out," he said. "Only a way forwards. When you're ready, seek me out. I will be waiting for you." The radio went dead.

Verity almost didn't want to look up at Boone because of the reproachful look she knew he'd be giving her. Her heart was racing, her senses quickened, ready to respond to Ulysses' challenge. But Boone –

"I'm worried one day I'm gonna lose you," he said, quietly.

She pressed her lips together. "Sorry," she said, shame burning in her cheeks. The word felt inadequate.

"I don't-" He sighed. "I don't want you to be sorry. I don't want you to hide away, or change yourself, or – or be anyone different. I just – I feel like you're on loan." His brows knitted together, frustrated, as her own face slid into a mask of confusion. "That's not – what I mean," he continued, before she could ask him for clarification. "I mean that – that one day something's going to happen to you and you'll be gone before I know it. You just run into things headlong."

"It's the only way I know how," she said quietly.

Before he could reply, there was a loud knock on the wooden door. "You two f-finished yet?" Ten yelled.

They shared a strained smile.

"Be five minutes," Verity called back, acutely aware that she was still dripping on the carpet. The owner – well, she wouldn't have been mad at her, exactly, but the old woman could summon up a hell of a disapproving aristocratic stare. She sighed, and headed back to the bathroom to pick up her towel.

Fifteen minutes later the group was gathered in the lobby. Verity grimaced as she surveyed them. First Recon looked determined, but exhausted; uncertain. Betsy's jaw was set with determination; Ten was smiling grimly, despite everything; but Charlie – Charlie looked like she was about to be sick. Her skin was pale, the dark circles under her eyes looking more like bruises; her eyes glassy.

"Where to t-today?" Ten asked, his voice carefully nonchalant.

Verity glanced toward Boone, not feeling like she could dictate what their course of action was going to be.

Boone looked down at the ground, then up again. "Way I see it," he said. "We get out as soon as possible, or we find out what's happening here."

When no one replied, he continued. "Those men outside – some were wearing NCR uniform. I don't know what's happening here. Don't know if I want to know."

"We lost a lot of soldiers here," murmured Charlie. "The men here – they don't listen. They don't talk. All I can guess is – something happened to them. Something that changed them. Like – like ghouls, I guess, but they can still think, and plan, and shoot-" she closed her mouth abruptly as her tone threatened to turn towards hysteria. Verity noticed Betsy flash a concerned look towards Charlie. Maybe she hadn't seen as much active duty as the rest.

"Okay," said Betsy. "Seems to me like we need to get out. Let's head out, see if we can find a way back up to the surface. We can't come back the way we came. Burnt our bridges a little, if you don't mind the pun. We head out, carefully, look for some way to leave, try to take advantage of it. That okay with everyone?"

The group turned, almost as one, to look at Verity. She swallowed. "Yeah," she said. The safety of the group came first.

"Okay," said Betsy. "Let's move. _Carefully._ This is extremely hostile territory. Safety first."

They stepped out into the strange half-light, the weak sun filtering through the sandstorm above. The wind must have shifted overnight, as the sand was swirling thickly around the valley floor. They pressed cloths to their mouths as they walked.

They were retracing their steps. Their path led them past the burnt shell of the apartment block they'd left the previous night. Verity sighed as she looked up at it; the tunnel overhead impossibly out of reach.

They hadn't seen a single living creature since they'd left the hotel. It was hard to see clearly for more than a few steps in front of her, although she could see outlines of buildings against the sky. The piles of debris that littered the canyon floor took her by surprise, and more than once she almost bumped into a street sign or open car door.

The group froze as they heard a loud cracking noise, echoing off the valley walls despite the muffling sand. The ground trembled under their feet.

"What the hell?"

Verity heard Betsy's voice, quietly, as the sky began to darken. She could hear a deep rumbling, grating sound. She looked up, and froze. Above her, one of the tall buildings that were scattered over the valley was lurching over them, tumbling out of place.

Verity stood transfixed, unable to move as the huge dark shape bore down on her.

"_Get down_!"

Someone caught her around the shoulders, pushing her down to the ground. She curled up protectively, trying to make herself as small as possible.

With a deafening crash, the building came down with an impact that shook the earth around her. The building roared and screamed as it broke up, smashing into the valley floor. Everything went black.


	72. In Dixie

And, furthermore, a happy motherfucking new year. Last update for 2012 :3

I would again like to thank all my reviewers and people who have talked to me about this story because you are all so great and I would have given up like, 2 years ago without your input.

Also I'm actually kind of excited about this chapter because I, FOR ONCE, wrote it in less than 24 hours. It's been months (maybe longer? a year?) since I've been able to do that! I'm getting excited about this because I can see the ending coming at last.

I'm also considering starting a concrit community, where people can post or nominate their stories for criticism and members can provide feedback in a no-hurt-feelings kind of environment (but also no actual being cruel). Thoughts? Keen? There's a lot of stuff I haven't worked out, like where this is going to be able to go (here? tumblr? LJ?) or what kind of fandoms (or original stuff?) are involved, so if people are interested, let me know.

* * *

The only thing she could hear was her breathing, shallow and rapid. She blinked into the darkness, trying to clear her vision, but it was pitch black. The air was still around her. No breezes, no drafts.

She tried to uncurl herself, her limbs stiff, but wasn't able to spread out very far. Something – the side of the building that had fallen? – was just a couple of feet above her head. To the sides, there seemed to be crumbled, jagged concrete on both sides, rough against her questing fingers. The ground under her was thick, hard rock, covered in a fine layer of dusty sand that stuck to her fingers when she pulled them back. Her heart was pounding.

Her head was fuzzy. She shook it, eliciting a painful twinge from her neck. Something was wrong, there was something she wasn't remembering. Someone had pushed her out of the way –

"Craig?" she asked, her voice thin and scared in her ears. She reached out, but she was surrounded all around. A concrete coffin. "Craig?!" she called again, pushing at the debris to her sides, clawing with her fingernails until she felt one of them snap. She curled her fingers into a painful fist.

She wasn't trapped, she thought as she struggled to keep her breathing even. Don't panic. Panicking is going to use up all your air.

In the darkness, a vivid, bright memory rose into her mind.

She was young. Quite young. She could tell because, in her memory, she was filled with the sensation of fearlessness, a wild, uncaring freedom from caring about yesterday or tomorrow or anything that wasn't right in front of her at this very moment.

_She looked up at the building in front of them. It was crumbling and dilapidated, thick cracks running through the building's external walls from foundations to the sunken roof. It stood fully three stories tall, window frames torn out and huge holes in the sides._

"_Come on," she said. "There might be cool shit inside."_

_The building shook with every step they took, but she didn't even think about turning back. The sense of exploration, of digging through things no one had touched for years drove her onwards, opening cupboards and cabinets and suitcases._

_She was by a window when it happened. It was almost without warning, a rumbling that shook the entire building. It was an earthquake, not a big one. They weren't exactly rare around these parts. She grabbed onto the gaping window frame and waited for it to be over._

_But, instead, the building started to cave in on itself, starting in the middle and spreading towards the outside walls. She heard a thundering crash as the staircase collapsed, the roar of falling masonry. _

_She threw herself out the window. She landed hard, and rolled more by momentum than intentional action. When she could sit up again, the building was rubble. She could see movement among the wreckage. When she and the other people who had managed to get out had managed to pick out who they could, they realised that only those who had been on the top floor at the time were accounted for. The others were buried under the pile of rock._

"_God-fucking-dammit," she'd said. "They couldn't have survived that. Let's get out of here." She turned away, the building behind her half-forgotten already._

Curled up under her own collapsed building, she felt a pang of guilt so strong it almost brought tears to her eyes. Every time she unearthed another old memory, it brought hurt and regret. Had they been trapped, like her now, hoping for a rescue that never came? Starving or running out of oxygen or being slowly crushed under the weight of the rubble overhead?

"_Boone!"_ she screamed, his name tearing its way out of her throat. She pictured him and Betsy and Ten and even Charlie, trapped under the building's weight.

But there was no reply. The building around her was silent. She let her forehead rest on the ground under her. It hadn't been meant to end like this. Their future together. Their – their child.

Gritting her teeth, Verity began to reach out again. She needed to get out. Not just for herself. For – for whatever that was left of her and Boone.

There was a gap, in front of her. Not a large gap, but one that she might be able to hollow out, dig out the earth under it. She scrabbled with her fingers, scratching at the hard earth.

After what seemed like hours, she'd managed to hollow out a shallow gap. She slid forwards, pushing against the concrete behind her with her feet. She wriggled forward on her elbows, but there was something strange about the earth under her. It seemed spongy. She frowned and probed at it gently with her fingers. She felt her fingertips break through the surface, and almost had the time to panic before she was falling herself.

She threw her arms out in front of her as she fell through the air, breath catching in her throat. She hit the ground maybe two seconds later. She felt, rather than heard, something snap in her right arm, and an explosion of pain as she landed in a heap.

She swallowed the cry of pain that threatened to spill past her lips, but she could feel sweat beading on her face. No med-x. No stimpaks. She clenched her jaw and tried to sit up. It was still pitch black, but she had more space here. The walls of the cavern she'd landed in were rough, but felt like they'd been hollowed out intentionally, flat and gently curving. She reached for her pip-boy light, but pulled back with a hiss of pain as she moved her arm. Something had to be broken. She grimaced and pressed the button with her chin instead.

She froze. The space she'd fallen into _had _been created on purpose. It was a _tunnel_. It was probably high enough to be able to stand in, although she might have to walk stooped, and the sides were wide and rounded. For the first time she noticed the smell, thick and rancid in the unmoving air. She could barely bring herself to breathe it. She pulled her legs up to her chest, cradling her right arm, heart thumping erratically.

She was in the tunnelers' territory. She couldn't hear scratching, or movement, but didn't know how far those sounds would carry underground. There could be something right around the gentle curve of the tunnel to either side of her.

She thought about turning her light out, but the idea of crawling along the tunnel in the dark terrified her. With those big, milky eyes that they had, they might be able to see enough in the light of their own gentle glow to catch her even without any external light source.

She swore under her breath. She had to keep moving. The tunnelers might have been scared away by the crashing of the building, but they wouldn't stay away forever. At least – she looked up at the hole she'd fallen through – at least if the ground was this thin, the others might have made it too. She blinked up at the tunnel roof, trying to swallow the sick feeling that was threatening to engulf her. They were safe. They had to be safe.

She heard a scratching noise, but couldn't tell where it was coming from. She reached for her pistol, but her hand found only folds of fabric. With a sinking feeling, she realised she'd lost it the day before. That would lower her chances of getting out of this tunnel considerably. Grimacing, she used her good hand to push herself to her feet. She looked at the tunnel on both sides of her, extending into blackness. Her pip-boy light seemed weak and feeble in the darkness. Which way had she been going? She looked left, then right, and finally, hesitantly, chose right.

Her footsteps barely made a sound, the twists and turns of the tunnel absorbing a lot of the noise. Verity stumbled along, trying to ignore the wire of white-hot pain that shot up her arm every time she jarred it.

She felt like she wasn't getting anywhere. The tunnel floor was scattered with debris, bits of junk and foul-smelling waste. There were smaller tunnels that branched off the main one, but she ignored these as she moved past, not wanting to get trapped inside.

A thatch of sand-coloured fabric caught her eye in the tunnel up ahead, and she approached cautiously. It was a uniform, an NCR uniform, and she hurried towards it. Was it Ten or Betsy or one of the others?

She stopped short as she realised, by the smell and the fluids oozing from the body, the soldier had been dead for some time. He didn't look like the men outside. He still had skin, but his body was decomposing fast. She crouched next to him, and lifted his uniform coat with her left hand, hoping for a gun to protect herself with.

What she found seemed more like a toy than a weapon. She stared at it in her hand. It was tiny, the barrel short. She couldn't figure out what it was until she found a packet of short flare rounds in another of his pockets. A flare gun. She stared at it dubiously. It wasn't going to do much damage. It could bruise, maybe. Might do some damage if she hit one of their eyes. Somehow. She slid it into her pocket anyway, and kept walking.

The longer she spent underground, the more uneasy she felt. What if she was just working her way deeper and deeper underground? It didn't feel like the tunnel was descending, but she wasn't even sure if she'd be able to tell if it was. She checked her pip-boy for the time repeatedly, compulsively. She'd been walking for less than 15 minutes, but it seemed more like an hour.

A quiet scuffling behind her made her spin around, the light whirling wildly. Nothing. With a slow-growing pit of dread in her stomach, she took a step back. Now the noise seemed to be coming from both sides. Her right arm was hot and throbbing, held as close as she dared against her chest, and she reached for the flare gun with her free hand.

Then she saw them. Their huge eyes, their sinuous movement, their glow-tipped horns, washed out in the weak light of her pip-boy.

The tunnelers danced around the shadows where her light didn't quite reach, close enough to see her, watch her, but not close enough to attack. She could see two behind her and one in front of her, but knew there had to be more in the shadows behind them. She tried to swallow her rising panic, but she could tell that their curiosity wasn't going to last long. For now they were content to watch, treat her as a harmless interloper in their territory, but soon they were going to tire of her; drift closer, and when the final attack came, it would be over in seconds.

They didn't seem to pay much attention to the tiny flare gun in her hand. Verity worked to steady her breathing. Don't panic. If she could take the one in front of her out, maybe that'd give her enough of a chance to be able to run past it.

She lifted the gun in front of her.

In response, the tunneler leapt towards her, claws outstretched. Conscious of protecting the only weapon she had, she threw her free arm up in front of her face. A bolt of white-hot pain shot up to her shoulder as she lifted it, remembering too late that it had been injured.

This pain was immediately replaced by thick stripes of agony as the tunnelers' claws bit into her flesh. She couldn't swallow the scream that escaped from her mouth.

She felt the tunnelers' skin against her arm, thick and scaly and warm, as she was knocked backwards to the ground. She tried to kick at it, to push it off her, but the creature was impossibly strong, muscles long and wiry.

It reared back to strike her again. Her muscles tightened, reflexively. A dazzlingly bright light lit up the tunnel. The weight on top of her was suddenly gone, the tunneler falling back, pawing at its eyes in pain. It wasn't until Verity saw the hissing red flare lying against the wall that she even realised she'd fired a shot. She scrambled to her feet, her arm screaming at her.

There was no way she could load another round into the breech-loading pistol. She looked around, desperately. The tunnelers had retreated to the very edges of the pool of light that the flare had created, but she didn't have long before the flare burnt itself out.

She dived into one of the tiny side tunnels, crawling flat on her stomach in the filth of the passageway, using her knees and her one good arm to move along. She felt a stab of hope when the tunnel began to rise towards the surface, and then again when a dim shaft of light about twenty feet away began to filter in.

She began to move faster, carelessly, desperate not to die underground.

It wasn't until she was almost at the end of the tunnel that she heard the growling, a low, menacing rumble that chilled her blood. Too late, she froze.

A pair of huge jaws bit through the earth, snagging her in gigantic teeth. Foul damp breath enveloped her as she was lifted through the surface, emerging in the shadow between the cliff wall and a row of low buildings.

Verity was deposited on the earth carefully. A huge, warm, wet tongue swiped her face, before her rescuer sat back with a happy bark.

She couldn't believe it. "G-Gabe?" Her voice was almost a whimper. "How are – how did – why –"

The sight of his wagging tail brought hot tears to her eyes, and she threw herself forwards, burying her face in his thick fur. He must have tracked her scent, followed her for hundreds of miles. She couldn't even speak as she sobbed into his neck, fingers clenched in his fur.

"You're such – such a good boy," she hiccupped out, finally, as she sat back. Her voice was little more than a gasp. "But – I need your help."

He sat up, attentively. For the first time she noticed the blood staining his fur and armour. Most of it didn't look like his, at least.

"You've gotta find Boone. And the others. Please. A – a building fell on them."

Gabe whined and cocked his head to the side.

She wiped tears away from her face. "Please? It's the most important thing right now. I can't do it alone, I just – just can't dig that much stuff out on my own. I know you don't like people, that much, but – please?"

Gabe barked in response.

"You know what Boone smells like. The others – are like him. Not like the others here. I don't know if anyone's a-alive right now, but – I – _we_ – need to find them."

Gabe barked again, and got to his feet.

"This way-" she began, but the crackle of the radio, somehow still in her pocket, stopped her where she stood.

"Courier."

She hesitated.

"You've almost reached the end of your journey. Look up."

She did. High above her, built into the cliff, was a huge door, a blinking red light outside.

"You've come too far to turn back now."

She pushed the button with shaking fingers. "I've gotta find my friends." Her voice was weak and shaky. "The building…"

There was a brief pause, before the line opened back up. "Do you have medical supplies, Courier? Machinery? Anything to help you in your quest?"

She almost let the radio fall from her fingers. She didn't have so much as a single stimpak, a bandage, a vial of med-x.

Ulysses seemed to take her stricken silence as a no. "Come, Courier," he said. "You've been wandering long enough. Come for answers, and you'll get whatever you need after that."

She looked up at the door again. "Gabe," she said. "Find the others. I'll come help later."

She held down the button on the radio. "I'm coming," she said.


	73. Cause Dixieland

This has been far too long in coming. My apologies!

* * *

The Courier took one step up, and then another. The wind was so strong that she was forced to huddle against the rough cliff wall as she climbed, and even buffeted her so hard that she had to stop and crouch as it howled against her for fear of being blown off the path. She had to struggle to breathe through the fabric covering her mouth; the wind seeming to whip the air past her face too fast for her to breathe in. She kept her eyes slitted – her sunglasses offered little protection against the rasping wind. She could hear the tapping as the sand hurled itself against the plastic lenses, scratching thin lines across the surface.

The pain in her arm had faded to a dull ache as she concentrated on the climb. She didn't dare turn to look behind her because if she did, she wasn't sure that she could keep walking.

One foot in front of the other. She struggled to find a foothold on the rock as the sand built up around her feet to make her slip. She kept her eyes downcast, watching step after step. She had no time to stop, no time to pause and regain her breath, to even think about what was coming next.

One foot in front of the other. The same way she'd made a thousand deliveries. What was she delivering now? She wasn't sure. Blood was staining her sleeve, dripping through the gashes the tunneler had made in the uniform she was wearing.

One foot in front of the other. Her feet seemed to be blurring, wavering and wobbling through the haze of sand. She blinked, trying to clear her eyes, but it didn't seem to help. She missed the sun beating down on her back, heat rising from the ground. She was cold. So cold.

The path levelled out under her feet, and for the first time since she'd started, she looked up. Debris scattered the ground outside the door, tins and old mattresses and chunks of rock and metal. She shuffled forward, stumbling to the large metal doors set into the rock. She used her left hand, still clutching the flare gun tightly, to hit the button on the panel at the side of the door to open it, and stepped through.

The doors closed neatly and quietly behind her, and suddenly the world was silent, lit by fluorescent emergency backup lighting. Her ears almost ached in the sudden absence of noise. There was no howl, no wind to battle against. She took her sunglasses off in the dimness, and pulled the fabric down off her face. She tried to wet her lips with her tongue, but her mouth was dry.

The corridor felt like it was endless. Her footsteps echoed irregularly in the enclosed space. The door at the end of the hall seemed to waver under the cold electric light. It seemed to be getting harder to breathe. Maybe she could just sit down for a second. Just rest, a while, before going on. But she was close. Too close to stop now. She almost fell into the elevator. There was only one button to press, and she leaned against the elevator wall for support.

The door slid open with a hiss.

The room she found herself in was dim and dusty, lit by emergency lighting that marked doorways and steps. She almost tripped on thick black cables lying in tangles on the concrete floor.

She took a step down, and slowed. The room was gigantic, almost a hollowed-out cavern, with a metal floor. To either side of her, giant missiles, like the one she'd seen in the military base earlier, lined the walls. She couldn't tell if it was just her vision, but they seemed to be leaning, tilting crazily. More warheads lay on the floor itself, among gently twinkling banks of computers. There was a level below that, too - almost too dim for her to see. The lower level was striped with lines of bright blue light that Verity couldn't make sense of. Below that – she couldn't even see the bottom of the room. It was just blackness beneath. Her head spun just looking at it, her knees threatening to give out under her. She began to walk again, picking her way carefully around the warheads, almost afraid that if she didn't keep moving, she'd never get to the end of her journey.

She took a step forward. Grey clouds were filling up her vision. She stumbled onwards, her footsteps irregular clanks against the steel walkway.

Ulysses was standing on a raised set of steps, merely a blur in the dimness.

As she got closer, he turned.

"You've returned, Courier," he said. "Your steps have led you full circle."

Verity could feel liquid dribbling down her forearm as she held it against her chest, soaking the bunched fabric around her bent elbow. The flare gun dropped from her hand. She didn't know why she'd been holding onto it in the first place.

"Can we make this quick?" she croaked, her throat dry. "Because I am seriously going to fucking pass out."

She heard the heavy tread of his boot as he walked down the steps towards her, but she could barely keep her eyes open. She took a step backwards, to lean against an old panel of computers, but her left leg gave out unexpectedly. She collapsed to the floor with a grunt.

Ulysses walked towards her, a dark smudge in an already-dark room. He bent over her, then took a step back and gestured towards her with his hand dismissively.

"Guess – you win," she mumbled. She exhaled, slowly, a weariness overtaking her body. This was it. It was over. She'd lost. It was almost a relief. No more trying, and falling, and failing. No more shaky coalitions to stitch together. No more betrayals, no more lies to her face that she had to grit her teeth and smile back to.

Maybe it was best she went out this way. The room was spinning. She closed her eyes.

A memory thrust itself into her mind. She felt – rather than saw – Boone. An impression of his arms around her, breath warm against her neck. She shivered at the phantom touch. She couldn't leave him like this. Her heart lurched. The _baby_. The tiny creature that was forming inside her, that she still couldn't quite believe existed. Her child wouldn't even have a chance at living. She was going to have to leave both of them. She'd failed both of them.

A sharp sting in the crook of her elbow made her jump. She cracked her eyes open once more and looked down. An eyebot was hovering just above her, a delicate mechanical arm extended. She blinked at it, twice, before a piercing blue light shot out of it to illuminate the area the robot was working on. Verity closed her eyes against the brightness with a grunt of pain.

"This wasn't how I had imagined this, Courier." She cracked one eye open. Ulysses wavered in front of her.

"Y-yeah?" Her lips felt thick; her tongue heavy. "You had a – a big plan? Way this was muh-meant to go down?"

He sighed, instead of answering.

Verity struggled to cling to consciousness, dimly aware of the machine prodding at her arm.

"D-did you – did you have a sh-speech prepared?" she slurred. "C-c-cause I can still hear okay."

He didn't reply.

"F-fuck is this thing, anyway?" She tilted her head down towards the eyebot. "I us-used to have one like this, but it only sh-shot people."

"A piece of the Old World," Ulysses said, breaking his silence. "Maybe one best left sleeping."

"'S it your pe-pet?" she managed to get out.

She heard his footsteps move further away. "You left a graveyard behind you, Courier. That day the earth shook; the air burned. These machines were all that was left alive. The world was dust and ash. These machines – found me. Seemed to – think there was something about me that was worth saving." He paused. "Not me, Courier. The flag on my back."

"Verity," she murmured, barely whispering.

"You don't deserve it."

That irritated her enough to open her eyes and glare weakly at him. "The flag. That symbol. You painted it everywhere."

"Symbols are important, Courier. They inspire. They guide."

Her arm went numb. She turned her head to look at the eyebot, next to her. It was almost a blur of gently gleaming metal, arms moving quickly and delicately. The machine had removed a neat square of the uniform, exposing the wound. She saw a flicker of movement as the eyebot's arms moved over her skin, neatly suturing her flesh together, re-attaching veins and nerves. Her fingers curled reflexively into her hand as the machine gripped a tendon, and then again. In between the movements she saw flashes of white bone. She closed her eyes again.

"Who are you?" she asked, quietly. "We didn't really – know each other well, exactly. Didn't even – even know you at all. In my case."

She heard him take a breath and let it out slowly.

"What does it matter?" she asked. It seemed like her voice was coming from a long way away. "Now. Here's where we lay all our cards on the table, right? No more – playing games. No more screwing around."

Ulysses sighed again. "Caesar's army – descends like a plague. A fire, burning everything in its path. Those caught in the blaze – don't realise the danger they're in, until it's too late. If they do realise, they fight, and they die, or do what they have to in order to survive."

"Which were you?" Verity asked. There was a long pause.

"My tribe was called the Twisted Hairs," Ulysses said quietly. "There was an – agreement. That we would act as scouts for Caesar, and in return, be granted his protection. We roamed the land enough as it was, and saw ourselves as fortunate that we had been chosen to be spared, that Caesar had seen our value."

Verity grimaced. "Yeah," she said. "They tried that with the Khans."

"He stripped the identity of my people. For most, he – shaved their heads. Erased everything they had marked themselves with. Their history."

"The hair?" she asked, squinting at him. "You still have yours."

"As a Frumentarius, I was permitted to keep them," he said. "To blend in; to impersonate someone who chooses his path. In Caesar's world, diversity is only permitted for those that work outside the Legion's structure."

Verity squinted. "Your hair looks – really familiar," she said. "Where have I-"

"The White Legs," he said, turning away. "It was my first major assignment. I was to lie; to deceive the tribe into believing they too would be valued and protected, if they could carry out one task. It was almost too easy. The White Legs are like – children. They cannot survive on their own. They are petty; malleable; simple; they steal and kill and eat without thinking. An offer of protection was too much for them to resist."

Verity's head was starting to spin. The urge to let go of consciousness was almost overwhelming. She forced her eyes to stay open.

"They – they took the braids for their own," Ulysses continued. "They didn't know what it meant. The meaning of each knot, each twist or loop. Like children, emulating a figure they look up to. Without thought or care. They sought to honour me; to imitate. All I could see in them was the dead of my tribe, looking back at me. Those that tried to resist; to cling to the old ways. Those that could not adapt, and fell as the Legion advanced."

Verity wet her dry lips with her tongue. "That's fucked up," she croaked.

Ulysses looked back at her, as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was there. She could almost see him now, the dim light reflecting off his eyes, something dark covering his face.

"I reported back to Vulpes." He spoke slowly, carefully. "And – after that – I was sent to monitor the West. Their supply lines; their resistance. I – never returned to the Legion."

Verity narrowed her eyes. "What did you do instead?" she asked.

He seemed almost reluctant to reply. "I walked, instead," he said. "Wandered, as a courier. Seeking meaning for all I have seen. All my paths led me back here."

"Did you find it? Your 'meaning'"

He turned distrustful eyes on her. "It was your lesson I kept coming back to, Courier. What you did showed me how easy it is to kill a nation.

Verity grimaced. "Were you ever a real courier?" she asked.

"I carried deliveries, Courier, but it was never my reason for walking the land."

"Then you don't know what it's like." She screwed her eyes shut. "You pick up a package, take the delivery order, carry out the instructions. Rinse and repeat. You don't fucking think about what you're doing and if it's right or wrong and if it's maybe, somehow, going to kill a thousand people without you realising it. If someone wants a package delivered, you deliver it. I don't see how you're reading so much into that."

"Ignorance is a choice, Courier."

"It's no fucking choice I ever made."

"That's still a choice."

"I didn't even think about it," she snapped. "It's a job. A paycheck. You walk the fucking wastes and hand over whatever the client wants. It's not like I fucking open each package and sit down and have a really fucking philosophical think about what it's going to mean for me and whoever receives it, you know? Fucking Christ."

"Didn't even think about it," he repeated. "How easy it is for you to speak those words. I delivered packages, Courier. Felt their weight in my hands."

Her vision was almost back, now, even if her head was still fuzzy from whatever the eyebot had jabbed into her arm. "So what – what'd you lose?" she asked. "Did you tell me you were married once, or was that-"

"A fiction," he said. "A convenience. What was lost here that day was far greater. A nation died here, as it was taking its first steps. As it was reaching towards the light."

"That's why you're not letting me die," she said, slowly. "You want me to understand what – what I did, before you let me go."

He laughed darkly. "No, Courier. You know what you did. You understand. That's not why I wanted you to come here."

"So – what, then?" She felt vague stirrings of unease, and looked down to check the eyebot, to see if she would be able to escape quickly if she needed to. It seemed to be in the process of finishing up the operation.

Ulysses turned, and ascended the stairs. His hand rested on a switch for a moment, before clasping it and bringing it down.

Verity gasped as the roof seemed to open up, panels sliding apart to expose the sky. Sand that had collected on the roof dripped into the room.

She almost had to cover her ears as a mechanical whine filled the room, and then, she saw that the metal steps that Ulysses had been standing on weren't just part of a raised platform. A missile, like those around the room, like the missile at the military base, rose from the depths below. She couldn't stop staring at it, pristine white and streamlined, the flag painted on its side.

She looked to Ulysses in confusion. "What-" she began, but he cut her off.

"New Vegas is the seat of corruption and rot in the Mojave," he said. "As a nation, it is young, but years of infighting and greed have soured it."

Verity's eyes flew wide open. "No!" she exclaimed. "Holy shit no!" She climbed to her knees, but had to stop there as a wave of dizziness almost overcame her, and she fell forward, catching herself with her one good arm. She could hear the eyebot beeping impatiently at her side. "You can't, it's not like that-"

Ulysses turned back to her with a cold gaze. "Defend your nation, Courier," he said. "Or it will be no more."

* * *

2 PART DIALOGUE BOSS BATTLE GO


	74. Is Where I Was Born

Goddammit I have spent so long on this chapter and I kind of hate it already and it seems really short and what is even happening

Also someone please tell me if I've left in any formatting errors, this has been chopped up and moved around so much it's a little ridiculous.

* * *

The flare gun was still lying on the floor where it had fallen, a few feet away. Less, maybe. That was it. Her only weapon. She looked at it dubiously. If she could reach it – maybe if she hit him somewhere painful. The eyes?

Ulysses followed her gaze. He didn't even react when he saw the flare gun, just looked, disinterested, back towards her. Disregarded it. Not a threat.

House, she thought. House had saved the city from the nuclear bombs the first time around. The eyebot next to her beeped a warning as her heart rate increased. House's systems might still be operational. But - House was gone. Yes Man didn't have full access. Sure, Emily might have picked up that program and got it working again, but - that didn't really seem like it would be one of her top priorities.

Her eyes were clearing, now, and she could see that he was wearing a gas mask. She fought to look down at her pip-boy. The rad levels in here weren't that high. She frowned.

"Defend your city," Ulysses repeated. "Your home."

"I just – I wanted-" She stopped, confused. "I didn't really – mean for things to happen like this. Any of this. I didn't really have a plan, I didn't-" she paused. Ulysses was staring at her, unblinking, his eyes unreadable.

She felt a chill run down her spine. If she was listening to herself, she wouldn't be impressed either. She even half-wished she had some mentats.

"Fuck," she began again. "My job was to carry a fucking – a fucking package. You know how it goes. I got rolled for the Chip. I went to get it back." She coughed, imagining she could feel sand rattling in her lungs. "And when I got to Vegas, I found – well. I still don't know what it is. A paradise. A tourist trap. A motherfucking playground. It – it wasn't like anything I'd seen before." She half-wheezed a laugh. "You're not even going to understand what I'm saying. No two people are gonna see Vegas the same way." She felt a sudden surge of affection for her city.

"And – fuck," she continued. "I wasn't expecting to fall in love with it." She sighed. "Not the bright lights and the drinks and chems and gambling – well, not just them – but – the people. They're full of ideas, and dreams, and hope, and life, and – when I saw what was happening – I couldn't let anyone take that away from them. They work so hard, just trying to get by.

"And you thought you would choose for them," he said. "To decide their future, and the future of their home."

The Courier bit back the angry reply that came to her lips. She swallowed, carefully, her throat dry. "Isn't that what Caesar wanted?" she asked, her voice shaky. "What he was trying to do? Roll over the West like a bulldozer and crush everything in its path and re-mold them into something else?"

"Caesar wanted to create something new," Ulysses said. "The NCR was born dying. The Legion would force it to change, to eliminate its own weakness."

"He wanted to tear everything down and didn't give a fuck about what he was destroying," Verity snapped.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about," he said, turning away.

Verity leaned forward, her heart lurching. She was losing him. "I almost handed everything to the NCR," she admitted, quietly. "Not many people know that. Some."

He turned back, as if his curiosity had been piqued. "What changed your mind, Courier?" he asked.

"I – I didn't see, for so long. The corruption. The hopelessness. The blind expansion. The regular people, I guess, the soldiers I met – they're just like I was saying earlier, just trying to get by. To feed their families and hopefully put some money away for when they get out of the army. They didn't want to be in the Mojave, and no one in the Mojave wanted them to be there either." She lifted her free hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's just – when you go high enough up the chain of command you get a lot more politics. They get directives from Kimball or someone, and they just care about the next election. They don't think about their soldiers as people. They're numbers on a page someone hands them at the end of each day. And they're not even volunteers, the NCR just dragged a lot of them out of their regular lives and put a gun in their hands. I just – I can't deal with that. Acceptable casualties. I mean, I get it's a war and that people die, but – I can't."

"That's a weakness," he said. "Your enemies will always be able to use that against you. You're dooming your people as you try to save them."

She looked down. "Yeah," she said. "Probably I'm not a great leader. I get too invested in everything and kind of suck at planning ahead and I just fucking don't know how to do a lot of stuff and I take setbacks pretty personally, but god-fucking-damn-it, I will fight for every last person living in the Mojave right now. For their lives and their freedom."

"Would you intervene yourself in every conflict that brews under Mojave skies, Courier?"

Verity frowned. "I - guess I can't. I can't fix everything for everyone." She bit her lip. "I mean - maybe you're right. I love my people and I want to protect them - but maybe I've been smothering them for too long. Maybe it's time to - to let New Vegas go. Let it take it's first steps on its own. See what they're capable of on their own. I can't hover over them forever watching out for mistakes they're going to make. That's not fair on them."

He studied her carefully. In the light from the open roof, she could see the warheads that scattered the floor. "What is that?" she asked. "What you're wearing. On your face."

He turned back, slowly. "The air here burns, Courier," he said. "In your lungs, your throat. If you're not careful the sickness will set in. The way my namesake died."

"Who's that?" she asked, the question almost automatic. She thought she saw a flicker of something – irritation, contemplation – in his eyes.

"You know the answer to that, Courier. I told you long ago."

"You'd be surprised what I don't remember."

Ulysses stared at her for a long, measured second. "He fought to unite two nations, Courier," he said. "He knew that sometimes, to build a better world, you have to break the back of those who oppose you."

Verity's eyes narrowed. She lifted her left hand and jabbed her finger into the air. "Not like that. Caesar wanted to play god. He told his men he was a god. He destroyed everyone who didn't go along with his dress-up party. That was a man, who did not give a shit about a single person other than himself. He'd sacrifice all of his people to achieve some minor goal. Do you know how many dog head men he sent after me? Hundreds. He just kept throwing them at me. Over and over, the exact same tactics. He thought he could triumph with low tech and sheer numbers. He didn't care about his men, he didn't care about his slaves, and he didn't care what any one of them wanted. That's not right."

"You speak with conviction, Courier," he said. "There is strength in your beliefs."

"Look," continued Verity. "My friend – a doctor – once told me that a society should be judged by the way it treats its weakest members. There's space for everyone in the Mojave, not just the ones who can fight their way to the top. I'm not going to waste my time creating some new world where the strong survive on the backs of the weak."

He almost laughed. "You may as well try to change the colour of the sky, Courier," he said. "You interfere with the natural order of things."

"But we don't need to," snapped Verity. "We're not all scratching in the dirt looking for food and hitting each other with sticks and stones. We have food production, we have economies, and, hell, we even have indoor plumbing. No fucking reason to go around killing people unless they try to kill you first. And all of the stuff from the Big Empty too, like those food creator dispenser things, plus whatever else they can make. It doesn't need to be like that."

She could see his eyes flicker in the light from the roof above.

"You walked the Big Empty, Courier," he said, slowly. Cautiously. "What did you see?"

Verity smiled faintly. "Madness," she said. "Obsession. The Doctors – they had no restraints." She looked up at him, suddenly. "You met Christine there, didn't you?"

The question had startled him. He half-turned his face away, hiding his features in shadow. "From the Brotherhood," he said, slowly. "She left to chase the old man. She was lost to the hunt."

Verity smiled sadly. "Yeah," she said. "She said that you saved her."

"May have saved her life," he said. "Couldn't save her from her allegiances. Her obsession."

"She just - she needed something to bring her back," Verity said, carefully. "In this case, it was a friend. Someone she'd known long ago."

Ulysses' eyes bored into her, his gaze uncomfortably intense. "And when you left the Big Empty – what remained?"

She looked down at the floor beneath her. "You talked to them too, didn't you?" she asked. "You must have seen how they've – sort of discarded pieces of their humanity as the years went on. I don't think it's their fault. They just spent so much time together that they've ended up in some type of mutually reinforcing loop. If you were stuck in a room for two hundred years with five other people I think it'd be hard to hold onto your own thoughts, even if you hadn't been doing weird shit to your actual brain the whole time." She sighed. "I don't think they were bad people. I don't think they were good people, either, exactly. They just didn't think about what they were doing. Who they were hurting." She looked back up. "I didn't kill them. You'd say I let my personal feelings get in the way. I liked them. I guess because they're hard to match up with all of the terrible things in the Big Empty. But there was their utility, as well. They're useful. Maybe they should have been killed. I couldn't do it. I don't like killing people - killing things - if I don't have to."

"You saw what they'd done, and chose to accept them?"

Verity's forehead creased. "I - tried to fix some of what they'd done," she said, quietly. "I took the Chinese ghouls back to Vegas with me. Those that were left. And Gabe. And - I tried to find a new home for all the lobotomites. The Big Empty didn't need a cleansing fire, it needed - help. That's not the way forwards."

"Did you speak with the gods of the Big Empty about their history? About the Old World?"

Verity shook her head, then caught herself halfway through the motion. "They did say something. But it was to do with you. Said you wanted to know about - America?"

She could tell he was disappointed with her answer. "America sleeps, Courier. Beneath this land lies the remnants of the Old World; what could be again. That's why this is necessary. To break down what has failed and begin again."

She tried to match the intensity of his gaze. "You're only thinking about it it as a symbol, though! All you can see is the idea, the concept. People are what's important. God damn it, that's what was wrong with the Big Empty. They pulled people out of their lives and forced them to be part of their fucked up experiments. You want to go back to the Old World and try and rebuild our world now in its image. I mean - that doesn't work. Caesar tried it, House tried it, and the NCR tried it too. That's not going to help, you're just going to destroy everything and be back at square one. The exact same thing is going to arise over and over. You're not going to break the cycle, you're only going to be able to unbalance it. It'll go back over time." She finished her words, breathing heavily. "What we have to do," she said. "If we can - is combine what we have from the Old World with the realities of this world we have right now. There are good things to be found in both. And - I don't know if what we'll be doing is going to turn out well or go horribly wrong, but - I owe it to every damn person in the Mojave right now to at least try." Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, eyes wide. Everything depended on this.

She actually jumped when the eyebot at her side trilled a series of beeps, so caught up in her need to convince him she was right. She looked down at her arm. There was a clean, delicate row of white stitching where the huge tear in her arm had been.

The eyebot floated back to Ulysses. He looked at its output reading, then looked at her, then looked back. There was a long silence. She was convinced he would be able to hear her heartbeat over the Divide winds howling over the open roof..

"You're – pregnant," he said, half disbelieving.

Verity laughed, the sound verging on hysteria. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Though that appears to be the least of my problems right now."

She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes. Concern – confusion? It was as if he had planned this, down to the words he was going to say to her, and suddenly she'd thrown something at him that he hadn't anticipated.

"That's right," she said quickly. "That's what you're doing right now. You're holding a pregnant woman hostage because you can't get over an accident that happened in the past. You're holding onto all of this – this stuff, it's destroying you, and, if you let it, it'll destroy my future, and my b- my baby's future, and the future of hundreds of thousands of others, and – and your future too."

He gazed at her, something almost like confusion in his eyes.

"I know what happened here is horrible, and I – I really am sorry for my part in this. But Christ, Ulysses – you're seeing meaning where there isn't any. You need to-" She paused, thinking about the words she was going to say. "To let go."


	75. Early Lord One Frosty Morn

Welp, this has taken forever. So sorry :(

* * *

She'd shaken him. She couldn't see his expression behind his gas mask, but his eyes held a note of uncertainty. And with him – it was almost the same as a victory. She struggled to her feet, using the computer bank behind her for support. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but could walk unaided.

"Thank you," she said. "For healing me. Us."

He took a step down, towards her, but hesitated on the next step.

"Is that it?" she asked, confused. "Is that – enough?"

He sighed. "You hold the weight of a city on your back, Courier. The hopes of a people. You carry the future of your nation within you."

She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted.

"It is fitting that this is where it ends," he said. "Surrounded by the remnants of the Old World. Machines that should long have been forgotten."

"Nothing – nothing really ends, does it?" she asked. "It just changes, and then – then whoever's left just tries to do the best they do with what they have."

"It is an ending for me, Courier," he said, wearily. "One which I have been looking towards for too long."

She took a step towards him, her legs shaky. "Ulysses," she said, trying to keep her voice level. "I don't have all the answers. Or, probably, even most of the answers. But – goddammit, wherever the future is, it's not here. And I mean for you too."

At last, he took another step down towards her. "Is this what you expected to take away?" he asked. Did you get the answers you were seeking?"

She smiled sadly. "The answers never mattered to me, Ulysses," she said. "What happens now, does."

He reached the bottom of the steps, facing her head on. Finally, she could see him properly; the pain in his brown eyes, the sheen of his dark skin in the low light, the thick locks of hair that fell to his shoulders.

"I gave you my word, Courier, that I would give you aid if you came to me. You have fulfilled your end of the bargain."

Verity's stomach lurched. "Yes," she said, her voice cracking. "I don't know if – I don't know what-"

"It is as you say," he said. "What is done cannot be undone. All that remains is to move forward with what we have."

She blinked at him as he started for the door, his eyebots following him like silent shadows. She paused, picked up the flare gun from where she'd dropped it, and ran to catch up.

The launch room had been so still and silent that the howl of the wind outside was jarring. Verity threw up an arm in front of her to shield herself. They picked their way down carefully. Verity cast desperate glances at the wreckage beneath, straining to pick out anything recognisable. She wanted to run, to skid down the mountainside, just to get there quicker, but held herself back.

Sick terror was beginning to crowd in on her by the time they got to the valley floor. She walked towards the destroyed building, heart thumping.

As she got closer she saw a mangled black figure, lying stretched across the ground, deep gashes in its thick hide and blood thickening in the sand. A tunneler. She crouched down next to it for a moment. No bullet wounds, just razor-sharp, jagged tears in its skin. Several of its limbs looked broken.

A few feet onwards, behind a pile of debris, lay the bottom half of another tunneler. Verity couldn't see the top half.

She hesitated, for a moment, then called out. "Gabe?" Her voice was thin and quavering.

Instead of the bark she'd been expecting, there was a roar. She looked up, and froze. The biggest deathclaw she'd ever seen was standing, not twenty feet away. It towered above the crumpled building, wiry and lean and muscular. Each talon seemed as long as her arm.

She'd never heard a deathclaw roar before. She'd never heard a deathclaw make so much as a single sound, and that was good because the noise made her feel like curling into a ball on the ground. It echoed in her head. She was frozen in shock and terror, staring at its glistening teeth and huge jaws. She reached for her weapon at her side mechanically, almost out of instinct, raised it, and fired.

A brilliant burst of bright red light almost blinded her, leaving trailing blue after-images dancing in her vision.

"Jesus!" She took a step back, lifting a hand to her eyes.

A kind of shriek filled her ears, harsh and scraping – it almost sounded like metal being torn in two – and then a shot rang out, so close to her that it made her ears ring.

Blinded and deafened, she stumbled back, reaching for the rubble with one hand to try and find something to hide behind. She heard another shot – coming from somewhere to her left, this time, which meant it was coming from near the rubble itself. She blinked rapidly to try and clear her eyes, and finally made out the shape of the deathclaw huddled against the cliff-face close by. Ulysses was aiming with a huge black anti-materiel rifle, and to her left – she caught a flash of red.

The deathclaw had shuffled back into a crack in the cliff wall, its beady eyes catching glimmers of light. It paused for a moment, then disappeared into the darkness.

Her eyes were drawn, desperately, back to the red beret she'd seen. The figure had lifted itself up on one knee, staring after the deathclaw. The figure was slight, she noted, with a treacherous pang of disappointment and fear. Shaved head. Ten or Betsy. As she watched, they turned and waved a grim salute in her direction. Betsy. Verity smiled, as much as she could, and waved back.

Then there was the deathclaw. Verity grimaced. Letting a wounded deathclaw out of your sight was a bad idea, and who knew what was back there? On the other hand, following a deathclaw into a dark cave wasn't exactly what you might call a good idea either.

She lifted the flare gun again and took a step towards it. "Do you have a spare gun or something?" she called out to Ulysses, over the noise of the wind.

He reached into his vest and pulled out a heavy submachine gun. She wasn't strong enough to hold it ready to shoot in one hand and the flare gun in the other, so it dangled at her side in her left hand while wielding the flare gun in her right.

Verity cast a quick glance over at Betsy. She'd disappeared. Not a good sign. Maybe she was looking after the others. The worry felt like a gaping hole inside her, but she pushed it back down.

She nodded at Ulysses. "Let's go."

She led him into the dark.

Verity felt, rather than saw, the cave open up around them. She didn't want to draw attention by turning on her pip-boy light, but the faint echoes of their breathing and their footsteps scuffling on the sand suggested a high roof above them. She paused, touching Ulysses lightly on the shoulder to tell him to stop.

She could hear it. The rasp of the deathclaw's breath, heavy and laboured. For a moment she felt a thrill of relief. They'd wounded it. Maybe not fatally, not yet, but enough to make it less of a threat.

She took another step, but paused as questions began flooding into her mind. Could it smell them, right now? How well can deathclaws see in the dark? What if there were more deathclaws in here? Didn't they hunt in packs? What happened to the deathclaw she'd seen earlier? Was it the same as this one?

Ulysses seemed to sense her tension. He leaned close towards her. "Close your eyes," he said.

She suppressed the 'why?' that rose to her lips and did as he said.

Even behind closed eyelids she could see the blast from the flashbang light up the cave, brilliantly, for just a moment before dying. The explosion in the confined space was almost deafening.

The deathclaw let out a terrifying roar of anger and fear. Verity opened her eyes into the darkness that had settled back over them, and fired her flare gun in the direction the sound had come from. The cave was illuminated with flickering red light. The edges of the cave were piled high with bones; scraps of tunneler hide; pieces of the uniform of both the NCR and the Legion.

Ulysses' eyebots hovered around him as he crouched to aim his anti-materiel rifle. Her ears were ringing so badly that she barely even heard him fire, just saw the flash from the rifle's muzzle.

She dropped the flare gun back into her pocket and lifted the SMG in both hands. The deathclaw stumbled as she began to fire, dropping to one knee. She watched her bullets as they tore into the deathclaw, each one a dark splatter on its thick skin.

Ulysses raised his rifle one more time and fired again. The deathclaw took a step towards them, stumbled, and then dropped to the ground.

As the last of the flare was guttering, burning itself out on the floor of the cave, she walked towards it. It was lifeless and still, but she got as close as she could without being in range of its huge talons, and emptied her clip into the deathclaw's eye. The flare faded into nothingness, and she switched on the pip-boy light at her wrist.

The others. Verity almost wanted to put it off for fear of what might have happened. She sighed, wearily, clenched her jaw, and headed back out into the wind. Her feet scuffed in the sand as she walked around the ruined building, one hand skimming the broken concrete. She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice Ulysses by her side until one of his eyebots bobbed into her vision. Heart pounding, she turned the corner.

The far side of the building had cracked in a spectacularly different way to the previous side, because of the wind, or the sand, or god knows what else. The building's shell had cracked off most of the rooms inside, leaving them exposed to the winds. Verity squinted, trying to pick out the shapes of her friends through the thickening gusts of sand.

She spotted a huge, round shape close by, sitting just inside one of the cracked rooms and cautiously made her way towards it. Before she could get more than a few feet away, it turned, and barked.

"Good boy." She buried her hands in Gabe's thick fur, now gritty with sand. He greeted her with a damp swipe of his tongue, and gave an uncertain growl towards Ulysses.

"Hey."

Verity turned. The voice was creaky, but unmistakeable. Betsy sat just inside the room to her left, her back against the wall, one of her trouser legs stained with blood.

"This that friend you were telling us about?" Betsy's tone held a note of caution. "I assume this dog is yours."

"Yeah," Verity managed. "Ulysses. He's got med-"

The words caught in her throat as her eyes flicked towards the others. Boone was lying at the very back of the room, as far out of the wind as possible. There was an NCR-issue uniform jacket supporting his head. It was slowly turning red.

Verity flew into the room, almost tripping over Charlie, who was sitting next to Boone. He was breathing, shallowly, but there was blood leaking from his nose and ear. His pulse was weak under her fingers.

"We used up everything we had trying to stabilise him," Betsy said, nodding towards the others. "We just – hoped you'd get back soon."

She turned to one of the eyebots. "Can you fix him?" she asked it, breathlessly, pointing at Boone. "Please?"

"Go." Ulysses nodded at the machine. Both of the eyebots obeyed, hovering over his prone figure.

She stared at them, eyes fixed on their delicate mechanical arms as they began to operate. It was only after she was sure that he was safe that she turned her attention to the rest of the room.

The room First Recon had chosen was far enough out of the wind to be almost comfortable. The walls were a neutral grey, and office furniture lay at the end of the room where it had been thrust by the collapse of the building. Charlie was sitting stiffly, holding her back straight against the wall, breathing rapidly. Ten was looking up at her, the smile on his face almost painful to see. He had a split lip and blood was covering half of his face. His glasses were crooked, and one of the lenses had shattered.

"Do you have med-x?" Verity asked, her eyes wide. "Stimpaks?"

He looked at her curiously for a moment, his eyes dark, before reaching into his pockets. "You would re-write history itself if you could, Courier."

She stared at him, confused, for a moment before taking the chems from his hand. Three stimpaks. Three med-x. She looked quickly around the room, trying to assess who needed the most help.

Charlie. The rigidity of her posture and her careful breathing pointed to a spinal injury. Verity crouched next to her.

"Is it your neck?" she asked.

Charlie looked up at her through half-narrowed eyes. "Bit lower," she croaked.

Verity flicked a syringe of med-x with her fingernail.

"No-" Charlie began, shaking her head. She broke off with a hiss of pain. "Not – not med-x first. Can't relax muscles yet. Make it worse."

Verity switched the syringe for a stimpak. She leaned against the back wall, as far behind Charlie as she could manage, and gently supported her as she moved Charlie's shoulders away from the wall. She slid the needle in between Charlie's shoulder blades. Charlie winced, but didn't make a sound. As Verity held up the med-x again, Charlie nodded. Charlie closed her eyes as Verity slid in the needle into her skin and depressed the plunger. "Jesus," she whispered.

Verity turned to Ten, but he shook his head. "Feels like a concussion," he said. "Doesn't hurt that much right now, looks worse than it is. I'll take a stimpak if Betsy doesn't need two, though. Can't see for shit."

Betsy smiled wearily as Verity approached her. "My hero," she said.

Verity grinned. "You have no idea how glad I am to see all of you," she said, reaching for Betsy's injured leg. Betsy gasped as she touched it.

Verity looked up at her, frowning. "You break it?" she asked.

"Think so," said Betsy, her voice tight. "Couple places, probably."

"How the fuck did you get up the top of this building then?" Verity asked, syringe of med-x in her hand forgotten as she stared at her.

"Got another fuckin' leg, don't I?" Betsy asked. "Couple of arms. You work with what you've got. Not gonna leave you to get eaten by a huge goddamn deathclaw."

Verity laughed, quietly, as she used Betsy's combat knife to slice the leg of her trousers. The skin on her leg was badly bruised, almost black in places. In one or two spots the leg had been so badly crushed that it had broken her skin. She saw Ten wince in sympathy as he saw Betsy's injuries.

"Always knew this day would come," said Betsy, with a sly smile, as Verity ripped off most of her trouser leg. Verity leaned forward with a smile, injecting the med-x into Betsy's leg.

"Oh god," said Betsy, her face brightening. "You're an angel."

_Angel. _The word startled Verity enough for her to look up, for a moment, before realising what she was doing and completing the injection. She followed it up with a quick stimpak, and sat back.

"If we run out of stuff the eyebots can fix you guys up," she said. "Might just take a while. Let me know if you need anything more." She slid the rest of the chems into her pocket, and looked towards Boone. He looked pale, fragile almost, which frightened Verity most of all.

Verity crawled across the floor to him. She sat down, near his hips, out of the way of the eyebots, and picked up his hand. His skin was cold against hers, and she had to fight a sickening terror that threatened to envelop her. She wrapped his fingers through his, held on tightly, and closed her eyes.

She stayed sitting there until she felt his fingers tighten against hers.


	76. Look Away, Look Away Look Away Dixieland

This feels like it's taken forever.

I'm really looking forward to finishing this - not because I want to get rid of Verity and the other characters so badly, just because I feel like this story is drawing to a close and deserves a decent ending. I don't think it's going to be in the next few chapters, though.

* * *

His eyes half-opened, a bright green in the dim light of the Divide. He blinked up at her, confused. "V-Verity?" he asked, his voice weak.

"Hey," she whispered back, her smile shaky. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes, but she blinked them back.

"Don't cry," said Boone, lifting a hand up to her face.

She took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her cheek. "I was worried," she said.

He smiled. "Always come back to you."

She laughed, but it half-turned into a sob. "Damn it," she said. "Craig-"

He tried to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows, but they gave out beneath him and he fell back. Verity wrapped her arms around him.

"Careful," she said, quietly. "You lost a lot of blood."

He moved, slightly, looking at the army issue jacket beneath his head. "Is that - mine?" he asked.

Verity looked at it. "If you mean the blood, then yeah, I think so. Jacket's Ten's, I think."

She looked over. Ten was sitting against the wall, eyes closed. Ulysses' eyebots were working on Betsy's leg. She was staring down at the machines blankly, her eyes dull.

"Are we gonna be okay?" he asked.

She'd never heard him so uncertain. She clenched her jaw and smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I think we might be."

His eyes closed again. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She bit her lip hard. "I am now," she said.

But he had lapsed into unconsciousness. She touched his face gently, stubble rough under her fingertips. Her smile was sad.

Maybe he could forgive the things she'd done for her nation. And she could forgive him the things he'd done for his. Maybe the only way either of them could move forward - was to work together. Her fingers tightened around his wrist.

The repetitive beeping of the eyebot signalled that it had finished with Betsy. Verity saw the corporal flex her knee and wince.

"You okay?" she asked.

Betsy grimaced. "Feels like I haven't moved it in six weeks. Hell of a fucking pins and needles. Is your man okay?"

Verity pressed her lips together and nodded rapidly.

"Good," said Betsy, leaning back against the carpeted surface of what had been the floor. "You know what? Fuck this place. Would have taken my chances at court martial if I had the choice to do this over."

"Yeah," said Verity, awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Just fuckin' with you." Betsy yawned. "I think I could probably sleep for about ten years," she said.

"Do you think you could wait until we get back to that hotel?" asked Verity. "The Amargosa? I think it'll be safer and probably more comfortable."

Betsy groaned. "Just wake me when we're done here."

"Okay," said Verity. "But I'm not going to be the one carrying you if you're too tired to wake up properly."

Betsy smiled. It was a forced, wan smile, but still a smile. "I nominate Charlie," she said. "Girl's stronger than she looks."

That earned a hollow laugh from Charlie. The eyebots had just started work on her, immobilising her neck. "You pulling rank?" she asked.

"Hell yeah, I'm pulling rank," said Betsy, yawning. "Not like it means anything any more."

"Guess that's true," replied Charlie.

Verity caught a quick glance from Ulysses. He kept himself seperate, around the edges of the group. He'd been so long on his own - it must have been strange for him after so long with only the wind and the monsters for company. When he'd met others, spoken with them, he'd been willing to talk - and listen - but was guarded, giving little of himself away. He spoke without thinking of his audience. In a way that was refreshing, after the guile and glibness of New Vegas, but in another - it was hard to face. Foreign. He seemed to feel her gaze on him, and turned his dark eyes towards her. Her first instinct was to look away, pretending their eyes hadn't met, but she forced herself to hold his stare.

His mask made him that much harder to read, his eyes dark pools in his face. She blinked first, weary.

"How can you live like this?" she breathed, barely audible. Boone stirred, roused by her voice. He blinked sleepily up at her, but she smiled down at him, stroking a thumb across his cheek.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I've got this one."

His eyes were glazed and fluttering, but his fingers brushed against hers, and her heart felt so full she thought it might burst. She watched as his eyes closed again. When she looked up again, Ulysses was watching Gabe. They seemed to get on well. Or at least weren't overtly aggressive towards each other. They'd both been molded for specific purposes, twisted and deformed into killers from the way they were born. Both unused to being around others. Maybe they recognised that.

Gabe took a look back at her, then lay down with a grumpy whine. She couldn't help herself from smiling. It seemed so normal, so - right. This was where she was meant to be, right at this moment. It wasn't often that Verity had ever felt that she'd done something actually right, but - maybe this was what it felt like.

The eyebots shifted to Charlie. Her shoulders slumped in relief as the machines began to work.

Verity settled back into the corner of the room, her leg lying against Boone's side, and waited for the eyebots to finish their work.

They stayed through the night, dozing against the walls, the howling of the wind still but unrelenting.

It was early the next morning when Verity heard a scuffling noise. Betsy was trying to stand up. None of the others had really slept, so her muffled swearing as she stretched her limbs drew their attention. She leaned heavily on the wall, but managed to get to her feet. She looked down at her legs with a faint frown, testing her balance. The leg of her uniform hung in tatters.

"Alright," she said. "That - actually doesn't feel that bad."

Charlie stretched gingerly. "Y-yeah," she said. "Me too. I'm okay."

"I'm good to go," said Ten.

Verity looked down at Boone. This time, when he tried to sit up, he closed his eyes for a moment, but was able to stay upright. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Okay. How do we get out of this place?"

Verity looked towards Ulysses. He nodded.

"The Divide is kind to those who know its secrets. I can lead you out of the canyon."

The others, subdued, stood up. Verity closed her eyes. Everything - everything had been leading up to this point. And now - she was exhausted. She stumbled as she got to her feet. Boone's arm around her stopped her from falling.

He tilted her head up to look at him, looking into her eyes. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "Christ. Tired."

He smiled. "Think we all are," he said. "You ready?"

She sighed. "Mm-hmm. Let's go."

Verity could feel eyes on them as they walked. Clusters of tunnelers watched from the shadows, groups of the flayed ghouls stayed a safe distance away as they studied them. The others noticed them too. They were edgy; uneasy. Gabe kept up a sustained growl, deep in the back of his throat.

Their path twisted and turned, sometimes climbing through tunnels and sometimes travelling through underground caverns formed by fallen buildings.

Verity watched the wreckage as they walked.

The Divide was dead. She'd killed it. And, as with so much in her past, she had to live with it. To accept what she'd done and then - try and move on. Learn from it. Let it shape her so that she would recognise it if it came back.

_You can't fix everything._

She remembered Boone saying that to her, months ago. More than a year ago, now. At the time she'd taken it as a challenge. She would fix everything. That'd show him. But now - she could see some things couldn't be fixed. The Divide might fix itself, in time. As the radiation disappeared into the dust, as the weather control burnt itself out, leaving the sand to fall to the valley floor. But it wasn't for her to fix.

They made their way through another military base. It seemed well-maintained, as if the inhabitants had been briefly called outside and would be back any minute. There was probably a Mr Handy with a cleaning protocol still active.

When they emerged, the sky was noticeably lighter, the yellow haze overhead thinning. She could almost see the clouds in the sky, high above. They were walking on a narrow cliff face, a sheer, sharp drop to their right. Gabe picked his way carefully along, pressing himself up against the cliff face on the left. Betsy was carefully not looking down, but Ulysses, in front, didn't even seem to notice.

Ulysses stopped, just as the drop circled around away from them. The path ahead grew narrower, but the walls rose on either side. It might be a squeeze in places, but they wouldn't have to worry about falling.

"This is the end of my road," he said.

She took half a step forwards. "You're not going to jump, are you?" she asked, cautiously.

He gave an almost-laugh. "No. Your world no longer needs me, Courier."

"Don't call me that," she said.

He studied her with his dark eyes for a moment, then nodded. "_Veritas_," he said. "Maybe you've earned it."

"Ulysses," she said. "There's nothing here."

"Do you really see so little?"

She sighed, irritably. "I mean this is a dead city. It's got no future and nothing will be able to really live here for a long time. You want to see a nation being born? Come back with us. I'll show you that I meant what I said. That I've been listening to you. That I'm taking responsibility for my actions." She paused, to take a breath. "Come back with me," she said. "Think I could use your help."

Ulysses was silent for a moment. "There is no more left for me out there than there is here," he said. "Leave me to see what the road brings."

"Why don't you make your own road?" Verity asked bluntly. "Don't wait for something to find you. Your life doesn't have to end here just because of - because of what I've done. You don't have to watch this place die."

"The Divide isn't dying," said Ulysses, but he seemed distracted. "No longer. Now it grows and changes like the roots of a tree."

"You mourned this place - Hopeville and Ashton - because you saw what it could be. You saw something more than a little wasteland shit hole. It's never going to be like that now."

Ulysses cast a look back at the Divide, the swirling sandstorm raking the sky. "Holding onto things from the past," he said. "Maybe you see clearly here."

Verity shifted her weight onto one foot. "At least come back and see Christine," she said. "She'll be happy to see you. Probably."

"Look," said Betsy, folding her arms. "I hate to remind you, but don't we have a coup to pull off? This may not be the best time to be picking up guests."

"Set your house in order, _Veritas_," he said. "You know where I'll be."

Verity let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "All-all right," she said. "I'll - see you again one day."

"I look forward to it," he replied.

"Well," she said, awkwardly. "Until then." She turned, and began picking her way through the narrow chasm ahead. It was strewn with debris, empty shells of cars and trucks, smashed computer parts and furniture. She could hear the others behind her, Gabe's heavy panting, footsteps as they jumped over obstacles, the clash of metal as the wreckage shifted under their feet. The howl of the wind was dying down as they walked, dimming to a dull wail like an old memory.

As the path began to turn, she looked back. Ulysses was still watching them, motionless. She raised a hand, tentatively, but he didn't respond. She frowned at him for a moment, before turning back to the east and turning the corner.

The path widened as they walked, and Gabe increased his pace to walk at her side. She put a hand on his neck in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

Verity was dimly aware of voices behind her having a muted conversation, but couldn't concentrate enough to follow it. She barely even felt the ground under her feet. The Divide had marked her, maybe as much as it had marked Ulysses. It had been a town she'd hardly noticed, a stopover she'd usually hurried through on the way to somewhere else with a few familiar faces. She'd been almost angry at first, when Ulysses had described her role in its destruction. It hadn't been her fault. How was she supposed to know? Was it her job to check all of her goddamn deliveries for potential detonators?

But - she'd realised - that didn't matter. How it happened. Why it happened. Just that hundreds - thousands? - of people had been killed. It seemed foolish, pointless to face that head on and only be able to offer 'it wasn't my fault' as a response.

She wa startled from her thoughts when Boone stepped up to walk next to her, on the other side from Gabe.

"Hey," he said. "How are you doing?"

She smiled, resisting the urge to take his hand in hers. Tying up one of a sniper's hands in hostile territory was something to be avoided.

"Good," she said. "I think. Tired. You?"

"Yeah," he said. "All of us."

The sky above them was almost blue, a dim haze gathered overhead. Tufts of brown, wiry grass sprang from the dry earth. She smiled, wearily.

"You thought about where we're going next?" he asked. "This isn't going to be easy."

She bit her lip, thinking as they walked along. "I don't have a plan yet," she said. "A proper one, anyway. But I do know where we're going."

The path was widening further still. She felt Boone watching her.

"We're going to Jacobstown," she said, finally. "It's safe. We have friends up there. I'll take some time - not much, hopefully - to think up what to do next."

He nodded. "Alright," he said. "I'll tell the others."

He left Verity alone with Gabe. In the distance she could see mountains, blue in the wasteland haze. She smiled. Almost home.


	77. Glory, Glory

I can't believe how few chapters I have written this year (and how many I have written last year?!)

I'm probably drinking too much :(

* * *

Verity's pip-boy started to crackle and stutter.

"…_came to take an outlaw back alive or maybe dead."_

She stared down at it. She'd forgotten it was on. It was startlingly familiar, comforting.

"_And he said it didn't matter he was after Texas Red."_

The music hissed into static as she kept walking, and she stopped abruptly, wanting to keep listening. Betsy almost walked into her back.

"Hey," said Betsy. "What are you doing?"

"S-sorry," stammered Verity. "I just – never mind. Sorry."

She began walking again, turning the volume on her pip-boy down, but not off.

"_Twenty men had tried to take him twenty men had made a slip, twenty one would be the ranger with the big iron on his hip."_

The cracks in the earth under her feet were almost familiar, caused by the baking sun instead of the shifting of the ground. Gabe was off ahead, just out of sight. And then, suddenly, they were out in the open. The canyon walls blended into the mountains around them, and just ahead, she could see the wild loops and twists of the Primm rollercoaster. She could hear crickets singing, the bark of a coyote pup somewhere nearby. She managed to keep walking this time, but her heart was beating quickly in her chest; her mouth was dry. She let out a shaky breath. Home. She was home.

"_They knew this handsome ranger was about to meet his death."_

They walked down towards the town. Gabe was waiting in an ancient playground for her, wagging his tail. The equipment around him was long rusted and too stiff to move. She could see people walking around the main square in Primm, between the two hotels. Actual people. Who wouldn't shoot at her. Well, maybe wouldn't shoot. If they saw Gabe, all bets were probably off.

"You guys want to stop?" Verity asked. "Place has a decent hotel."

"Jesus," said Betsy. "Yes. Please. My feet are killing me."

Ten shrugged. "Eh. I could keep walking. But if you ladies are too tired to keep going, I guess I could deal with that." He grinned.

Charlie didn't answer. She was staring up at a tattered NCR flag hanging from a telephone pole, a leftover from the war. She walked towards it, and made a leap up to the lineman spikes. She hauled herself up and climbed her way to the top. Hooking her feet into the spikes, she reached up, using both hands to gently detach the flag. She folded it, carefully, and made her way back down, her boots kicking up puffs of dust as she landed. She shrugged a shoulder. "Whatever's good."

"_Oh he might have went on living but he made one fatal slip, when he tried to match the ranger with the big iron on his hip."_

The Bison Steve looked run down, but the inside had been cleaned up and reopened. While it didn't really compare to any of the hotels on the Strip, it was tidy and serviceable, even if the wallpaper was peeling and the carpets were threadbare.

Verity sat down on the bed in the room she'd been given. Boone climbed into the bed beside her.

"I don't really know if this is the best thing to be doing, you know?" she asked, staring at the wall. "I don't mean like, staying here, I mean coming back at all." She chewed on her nail. "Though I do, uh, appreciate that you can't go back to the NCR. Guess I missed the boat on retiring out there, huh?"

Boone was silent. She twisted back around to look at him. He'd fallen asleep, almost immediately. She smiled, and wriggled under the covers next to him. It was almost strange to sleep in a proper bed again. In a town full of living people. She moved a little closer, pressing up against the warmth of his side, and closed her eyes.

* * *

They left early the next morning, Boone and Betsy settling the bill from a rapidly-declining stockpile of NCR dollars. Verity stood by awkwardly, carrying only the clothes she was wearing and that damn flare gun. It had been a while since she'd felt this helpless. She'd become used to feeling like someone important – although admitting that was embarrassing – and able to hand out caps without even thinking about it. Riding on someone else's money brought a flush of shame to her cheeks.

They walked north. The cracked highway felt familiar under her feet, even through her NCR army-issue boots. The sun started soaking into the asphalt they walked early, heat rising from the road.

As a small detachment of people dressed as NCR soldiers, they attracted little attention. Even after the Dam was re-taken, the Strip still enjoyed a fair amount of soldiers on leave, although in lesser numbers than before. Verity thought the number would probably start growing again – but that was too far in the future to think about.

Verity was tempted to call a halt once they reached Goodsprings – it would be nice to see the Doctor again. But, still, they moved on. It wasn't fair to put others in danger because of her. She kept the brim of her helmet pulled low over her eyes. They kept going.

It had just turned to dusk when they were approaching the city. Verity's eye was caught by the neon lights, burning the sky with their fluorescent glow. The Lucky 38 stood out most of all – high and silvery in the bright white lights. The city was existing without her. Thriving, maybe. Bright and harsh and beautiful in the dimming sunlight. Reluctantly, she turned away. Her exile was almost a physical ache.

They stuck to the outer circuits of New Vegas towards the northwest – the abandoned skeletons of homes; the rusting cars. Plywood backing surrounded the city, forming a rudimentary barricade against the wasteland. Verity knew that on the inside, cars lay stacked on top of each other, sheets of metal and anything else they could find fencing off Westside from the wastelands outside.

It was getting dark again, and instead of hiking up into the hills in the fading light, they made camp in an abandoned farmhouse, the crops out back long gone to seed. Betsy and Ten shared the double bed in the master bedroom, while Verity and Boone crammed themselves into the bottom bunk in what would have been the kids' room, Charlie taking the top.

In the morning they set out again. The Mojave was golden, the sky blue overhead. The grasses were crisp and crunchy under their feet, sprouting from the cracks in the asphalt.

Verity noticed the soldiers' dull, downcast eyes, their weary steps, boots scuffing on the worn-out road. She thought about trying to encourage them, but held off with a wince – they knew why they were here. They knew what they were facing. Anything she said now would be unhelpful. They kept walking.

The bighorners were coming back. They stood grazing on ridgetops, their horns outlined against the morning sun, roaring challenges to each other. The group avoided them carefully. Verity noted the old bunker of Arcade's friends; the now-deserted NCR ranger station. Still, they walked on.

The trees grew thick and green around them, reaching high into the sky. The air grew colder as they climbed into the mountains, snow crunching under their feet. The group slowed as the air thinned, even as the road levelled out. It almost felt as if they were on a different planet.

Verity sighed in relief as she saw the familiar fence, torn-off tree trucks stacked closely together to form a barrier against the outside world. The name "Jacobstown" was daubed on an old sign in white paint. She slowed, hesitantly. Who would still be here? Keene? Marcus? Lily? The wooden lodge rose behind it, broad and welcoming in the afternoon sunlight. There were huge figures lumbering around the grounds of the lodge.

"Is this place full of mu-" Charlie began, but Verity spun to cut her off.

"Thing about nightkin," she said, matter-of-factly. "Is that you don't see them unless they want to be seen. Just assume you're not alone, ever."

Charlie closed her mouth.

Verity shooed Gabe into the mountains, with instructions not to attack anything with a gun. Somehow she thought he wouldn't get on with all of Jacobstown's inhabitants.

It was Lily that Verity recognised first as she walked into the settlement, the others following close behind. The nightkin had lost her shawl with the daisy in it at some stage, but had kept the tattered old hat and gardening gloves. She was watching the herd of docile bighorners as they grazed on the few strands of grass reaching through the snow.

"Well look who it is," Lily rumbled. "It's been such a long time since I've seen you."

Verity wrinkled her nose. "It really has been, hasn't it?"

"Oh no," said Lily. "I understand. Young people these days are so busy."

Verity looked down, ashamed. "Well, yes," she said. "But I still could have-"

"Well, it is nice to have visitors," said Lily. "Oh, while I remember, a friend of yours is here. He mentioned your name, and that you helped him. He's been in treatment for some time, now, but I'm sure he'll still remember you."

Verity gazed at her blankly for a few seconds before it struck her. "God!" she exclaimed. "Dog! Shit!"

"Language," Lily admonished mildly. "I don't believe he goes by that name any longer."

Lily turned, as if noticing the others for the first time. "Oh, you've brought some friends." She eyed them up and down. "Mind they don't cause any trouble, now." She leaned forward, taking a closer look at Boone.

"Good heavens," she said to Verity. "This isn't your young man, is it?"

A smile spread over Verity's face. "Yes," she admitted. "Yes it is."

"That's just _lovely_," said Lily. "It's so good to see you two happy."

Verity and Boone shared a glance.

"Thanks, said Verity, still smiling. "It's good to see you too. We should go let everyone know that we're here."

Lily smiled. "I think they know already, dear," she chuckled.

Verity's smile faded slightly. "Well, yes," she said. "But, you know. Have to be polite." She turned towards the lodge.

Verity pushed open the door. The lobby was empty. She cast a glance around the room. "Anyone here?" she asked, quietly.

The breath caught in her throat as Keene decloaked next to her, but she managed not to jump. Charlie and Ten took a step back, almost in unison, but Betsy and Boone held their ground.

"It's been a long time, human," said Keene, watching her closely. "You must want something from us." He eyed her companions with distrust.

Verity looked down. "I don't want you to do anything for me," she said. "I wanted to stay here for a few days. To catch up with old friends. And these soldiers aren't a threat."

"Of course," said Keene. "The one you sent here speaks of you still."

"Dog?" she asked, her eyes widening. "I mean – God?"

"A name given by a master to a slave," Keene sneered. "And the name created to fight the master. Both names focusing on the actions of the master. Neither focus on the individual themselves."

She blinked. "So – is he here?" she asked.

"Seek him out yourself, human," said Keene dismissively. "You have been a friend to us in the past. Do not give anyone a reason to think otherwise."

She felt, rather than heard, a fizz of static as Keene reactivated his stealth boy.

"Thanks," she said, watching the shimmer fade into the air. She turned to the others. "Let's stay in the outside cabins. Probably less people around." She thought she heard Keene laugh quietly as they retreated back out of the door.

"Where's Marcus?" asked Boone. "Don't you need to ask him about staying?"

Verity turned to him, startled. "I, uh, don't know where he is," she said. "But he should be alright with us. Keene's the one I wasn't sure about. If I see Marcus I'll go talk to him. Be nice to catch up, anyway."

She showed the rest to the cabins that overlooked the frozen lake. Some of the doors had been boarded up, but a few seemed to be in reasonable shape. Again, they split off; Charlie alone and Betsy and Ten together.

Verity went inside. She stripped off the NCR uniform she'd been wearing for days, and then the NCRCF-issue uniform she'd had on underneath it. She sat down on the bed in her underwear, elbows resting heavily on her knees, and stared at the floor.

"Jesus fuck," she said. "What in the hell am I doing?"

The bed dipped as Boone sat down next to her.

"I have made a horrible mistake, somewhere, with my life," she continued. "And now we're boned."

He put a warm hand on her back. "Don't know what your plan is," he said. "But I'm going to make sure it works."

She actually grinned. "You're lovely," she said. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

He didn't answer, but lay back, stretching out on the bed, crumpling the sheet and the green-covered comforter over top. She followed suit, and curled up facing him. He reached out and put a warm hand on the bare skin of her stomach. She glanced down at it, his callused fingers against her soft, pale skin.

"How many weeks?" he asked.

"Fuck if I know," said Verity. "Sixteen, seventeen weeks maybe. The auto-doc told me, but I don't remember either what he said or how long ago that was." She looked down at herself, at the swell fo her belly. "It just looks like I ate a big lunch."

"Did the auto-doc say everything was going okay?" Boone asked, anxiously.

Verity frowned faintly. "Yeah," she said slowly. "He said it was coming along pretty normally, I think." She paused. "This is – important to you."

He lifted his hand back. "Y-yes," he said. "I – didn't know if I – if this would ever-" He broke off. "I'm sorry. If it seems like I'm just – focused on the baby. And not on you."

She smiled, sadly, and reached out to touch his cheek, her fingers grazing over rough stubble.

"Craig," she said. "I'm really scared."

He lifted his head to look up at her.

"I don't know what to do with a fucking baby. I never really wanted one. And now it's just – just living inside me, and stealing my food and blood and it's like a weird little parasite and I didn't say it could do that and then one day it's going to claw its way out and I'm probably going to die."

Boone was looking at her, apprehensively. "You – know they don't do that – clawing thing. Right?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Yes," she said, unconvincingly.

He smiled, moving a little closer to her. He shifted his hand to her hip. "It's okay to be scared," he said.

She took the sunglasses from his face gently.

"I'm honest to god going to be the worst mother in the world," she said. "And that's if the kid survives more than like, a week."

"I'm going to be there too," he said, moving his hand to her back. He began to stroke a spot at the base of her spine. "I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but-"

She wriggled her hips. "That _tickles_," she said, punching him lightly. "God damn it. I'm trying to have a _serious conversation_ with you, and-"

He pressed a kiss to her lips. "It's going to be fine," he said. "You're fine. We're fine. The baby is fine."

She frowned at him, faintly. He was smiling, maybe the happiest she'd ever seen him. And that – that worried her. This – the baby – was something he wanted, maybe more than anything. And maybe that was blinding him to what the reality of the situation was.

She sighed. "Yeah," she said. "Okay. I'm fine. We're fine."

He kissed her again, softly, and it was easy – so easy – to push everything to the back of her mind. She kissed him back.


	78. Hallelujah

Verity woke up early, light barely slanting in through the moth-eaten curtains. The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach let her know she had no chance of going back to sleep, so she got out of bed, easing herself out from under Boone's arm.

She couldn't face putting the NCR uniform back on, so she opened the drawers, as quietly as she could, and rummaged through them. There was a pair of men's trousers, but they were too long, and she picked up a faded green dress instead. She lifted a woollen jacket off the coat rack in the corner, and turned to stare balefully at her boots.

Even though she was used to being on her feet for days – weeks, sometimes – at a time, the army-issue boots had rubbed and scraped since she'd put them on, even with thick socks. The blisters on her feet had burst days ago, leaving angry red ovals on her skin. The only pair of women's shoes she could see looked far too small for her, so she put on two pairs of socks and shoved her feet into a man's pair of black dress shoes instead.

She shuffled out of the cabin, shutting the door behind her carefully and snagging her bag on the way out.

The air outside was crisp and cool, and it looked like fresh snow had fallen overnight. The grounds looked deserted. Verity picked her way over to the fence, snow crunching under her shoes, and crouched down. She pulled a twig from the fence and stuck it into the snow, standing straight upward. Okay. The Lucky 38. She drew a circle around it to represent the Strip.

Two entrances; the checkpoint gate and the monorail from McCarran. She used a scrap of bark for each. It was ridiculous to think that Benny wouldn't be covering them both thoroughly. The securitrons would have facial recognition technology, which made the gate potentially harder to get through – but, then again, Benny would be expecting her and would have stationed securitrons at McCarran as well.

So, what else was there? Air? The Boomers had a plane, though god knew if they still had enough fuel. She rolled her eyes. Yeah, she'd just parachute down while the securitrons below burnt holes through the silk. The sewers? Probably an option, although she didn't remember the Strip exit while poking around the tunnels a year or so ago. They had to come out somewhere. She sighed. Sewers. Her victorious return to her city, via the sewers. Which Benny was probably having watched.

The hairs on her arm rose. Something had changed. Something subtle. She lifted her head, eyes narrowed. The air in front of her flickered slightly.

"I'm getting better at this," she said. "You can come out."

She saw the huge, scarred chest, first, spelling out DOG in sharp, ragged letters. The bear trap on the nightkin's arm was gone, and the chain wrapped around his neck.

"Thought you kicked your stealth-boy habit," she said. "You went cold turkey for a while."

"The desire never goes away," the nightkin rumbled. "We both know I don't need to explain this concept to you."

She smiled. "Do you like living here?" she asked. "I meant to come see you. Help you settle in."

"I'm more than capable of settling myself," he said. "I should – thank you for sending me here."

"Don't feel obligated," she said, smiling thinly. "I think it was as much for me as for you."

The nightkin regarded her curiously. "Then you, too, have grown since we last spoke."

"You still go by 'God'?" asked Verity. "Er, and 'Dog'?"

"You would be surprised how poorly how people your peers respond when you request they address you as 'God'," he said, dryly. "The other nightkin understand – to some degree – but they are unhappy with the master-slave dichotomy. As is understandable. I should – choose a name, perhaps. A new one. But I have not yet."

"How is Dog?" asked Verity, straightening up. Her calves had started to ache. "Is he still – around?"

God paused. "Under control," he said, slowly. "Of a type. He needs to be protected. Not only have others protected from him. We – work together, now. When we can."

"Your schizophrenia is different to the others'," she said. "I didn't know it could manifest like this."

He sighed. "I don't think your conception of this 'schizophrenia' is the same as ours. You see it as a disease."

She frowned. "Well – isn't it? That's why the doctor up here was working on a cure."

God waved a hand. "It goes deeper than that," he said. "It is difficult to explain. Maybe you should just hope you never get the chance to understand."

"Yeah," said Verity, slowly. "Sure."

"What brings you here?" asked the nightkin. "I presume it wasn't just to visit us."

She winced. "I – well, there was a – takeover. I need to get back."

"And what then?"

She stared down at the model city at her feet, the tiny twig meant to be representing the Lucky 38.

"Then," she said, slowly. "I guess – I have to figure out what to do about the baby, and then I'll probably quit."

God looked at her contemplatively. "You're having a child?"

Her smile felt more like a grimace. "Looks like it."

"And you are prepared to leave your city?"

She nudged the tiny diorama over with her foot, scuffing over the snow-covered Strip. "Well," she said. "I keep calling it my city. But –" she sighed. "To be completely honest – it's not. It's theirs. It's everyone's. I've only lived there – I don't know. A year and a half. And a lot of that time I've been fucking around somewhere else. So." She shrugged. "There we go." She stared up at the nightkin, almost challenging him to reply.

"You – do not seem happy with these outcomes." God seemed more curious than challenged.

Her shoulders slumped. "I don't even know what to think," she said. "Everything – I've just been reacting for so long that I haven't really even had a chance to think."

"What matters to you the most?" the nightkin asked.

She sighed. "Not leaving anything shittier than when I found it," she said. "Which, I guess, is what it comes down to. I've made a lot of mistakes, but – I've also done a lot of things that have turned out well. I guess – I don't want to be making the decisions any more. I'm not really any better at making decisions than anyone else."

"And what of the one who betrayed you?"

"I can't trust him to act in the best interests of my city," she said. "I mean – _the_ city. Fuck."

"Will it be so easy to give everything up?" he asked. "What are you without your city?"

Verity narrowed her eyes slightly. "And now I remember why I kept Dog around a lot more."

God laughed.

"In my head," continued Verity, quietly. "I was going to have this – this triumphant return. March victoriously back into New Vegas at the head of an army. Something like that."

"I recommend you do not look to the nightkin or super mutants," said God. "We have long memories and no desire to march for another again."

Verity sighed. "Yeah," she said. "I think this one's down to me."

"As it should be," said God. She heard the familiar crackle as he reactivated his stealth boy. "Earn your place. Or it's worth nothing at all."

The air shimmered as the light bent around the nightkin. She watched him until she couldn't see where he was any longer.

She looked back down at the wreckage of the Strip at her feet, and crouched down to resurrect the Lucky 38 twig. There had to be a way in.

She left it where it was and walked out through the gate.

"Gabe!" she called, once she was far enough down the cracked road.

The cyberdog didn't take long to respond. She heard an answering howl that echoed around the mountains.

"Here, boy!"

Gabe came bounding down the mountainside and greeted Verity with a damp lick.

"Look at you!" she said, lifting her hands and grabbing his ears. "You're such a good boy. You're adjusting so well to not being stuck in a shitty little cave any more." She dug into her bag and pulled out a tin of Cram. "It's not the best, sorry, but it's all I've still got. We could go hunt a bighorner though."

Gabe barked happily.

"Well, alright, let's go," said Verity. "I don't have a gun, though, so you'd better put it down quickly."

Gabe was already running into the hills.

She smiled, and set off to follow him. The sunlight was weak and watery, and the chill in the air made her pull her jacket around herself tightly. The mountainside was more exposed than the lodge, and the snow that had fallen had been worn away by the wind.

It was clear and quiet, the only sound the gentle rustling of the trees. Gabe was out of sight already. She was alone, again, but this time safe. And free. The wind tugged gently at her dress. It felt – unusual to have bare legs again. She looked down, and winced at the fine hairs on her legs shining in the sun. Well, she could take care of that later.

_Later._ She turned and looked back down the mountains. She could see the spire of the Lucky 38, barely more than a needle in the golden haze and dust of the city. It was wide and sprawling, new and old buildings side by side. The Strip at the centre, then the gradual spread downwards and outwards until it the high walls around the outskirts. Maybe one day they'd be able to take them down. She thought about that, wrinkling her nose. Maybe not.

She could hear Gabe barking somewhere nearby, but when she looked around she couldn't see him. Her eyes drifted back to the city. There were ways in. She still had some friends, some favours to call in. She narrowed her eyes, then turned to go and find Gabe.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time she got back, the snow starting to turn to slush under her feet. The grounds of the resort town were quiet. She could see a group of mutants standing gathered in front of the lodge, and told Gabe to wait.

The mutants were standing in a tight knot, nightkin and super mutant alike. Verity caught a glimpse of tan uniform in the centre and hurried towards them.

"What's going on?" she called out, her voice ringing out in the courtyard. The group parted, a little, enough for her to see inside. Charlie was half-lying on the ground, her eyes wide. She was clutching her rifle, but the metal barrel had been bent so far around that it was pointing back at the stock. Betsy had the barrel of her rifle pressed against a nightkin's jaw, although Boone had a hand on her arm. Ten was clutching his sidearm. Lily was also standing in the centre of the group, between Keene and the soldiers.

Marcus turned to look at her as she slowed down. "You're here as a guest," he said, his voice calm although his eyes were fierce. "It would be polite if you'd behave like one."

Verity pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry," she said, tightly. "This is my fault."

"We've had trouble with them before," said Keene. "The bear. Come back to finish what you started?"

"What-" began Ten, but Verity took another step forward.

"No," she said, firmly. "Not starting anything. We'll be leaving. Now."

Keene stared at her, his grey eyes piercing.

"I don't have a gun," she said, holding out her empty hands. "I'm not here for a fight."

Keene plucked the rifle from Charlie's fingers and handed it to her. She stared down at the twisted metal uncomfortably.

"Then we will let you leave," Keene said, finally. "You're not welcome back."

Marcus looked like he was going to say something, but Verity shook her head. "Fine," she said. "That's fine. Sorry to have troubled you."

Verity led the others straight out of the Jacobstown gate. They didn't have much else other than what they were carrying, so they didn't bother to stop back at the cabins. Verity said a quick goodbye to Lily, and then they were gone.

"What'd you do?" she murmured, after she was relatively sure they were out of earshot. "Stare at a nightkin?"

"The big one seemed to have a problem with me," said Charlie, almost as quietly. "So I asked him about it."

Verity sighed. "This really is my fault," she said. "I just – should have warned you, or explained or something. Didn't think about it, I guess. Really should have."

"Gotta say," said Betsy, subdued. "Didn't think we were going to get out of that one without a fight."

Verity smiled. "Gotta make all this saving me up to you guys somehow, right?" she asked, although her tone was weary.

"Just the p-polite thing to do," said Ten, but Verity could barely muster a smile.

"So," said Betsy, after a few more minutes. "Where are we going?"

"Freeside," said Verity. She hadn't been sure of their destination before she'd been asked, but her plan seemed to crystallise in that moment. "Don't worry," she continued. "I've got an idea."


	79. Glory, Glory, Hallelujah

I can't believe how long it has taken to get this far. Thank you to everyone has reviewed, ever, you have seriously kept me going. I feel like we're on the homeward stretch. This story deserves an ending.

* * *

Every step was a little easier. A little lighter, a little faster. The crisp morning air melted into the Mojave summer as they came down the mountain, the tranquil green of the mountain giving way to the uniform brown sand of the wasteland. She watched the ground, not the sky, as she measured each step they took. The road was a winding ribbon as they made their way down the slope, eventually linking up with the road to New Vegas.

She took a quick glance back behind her. The soldiers looked exhausted, and for a moment she felt a pang of guilt. They'd given up so much for her, even Charlie, who barely seemed able to tolerate her. She wondered what the NCR was telling people about her escape – surely they wouldn't want to let everyone know that four of the NCR's top sharpshooters had defected. Especially ones that had known her during the attempted Legion invasion.

Gabe was running ahead, as usual, when they emerged onto the plains. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest. She knew she shouldn't be worried – she hadn't anything left to lose, after all – but the others were depending on her. They'd saved her life, and now she had to save theirs.

They passed the old farm buildings, the roughly repainted billboards advertising the casinos outside the Strip. The sparkling blue of the solar panels caught her eye, and she sighed. Maybe she could have made this work if she'd just tried harder to work with Benny. Been there more often. She'd taken on the role of leader, but hadn't taken on all of the responsibilities that went with it.

It was almost dusk when they reached Westside, and Verity was exhausted. She was still wearing the oversized men's shoes and the ridiculous green dress, and her feet were aching. They were skirting around the gates, Gabe still following behind them, when one of the residents took a second look.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed. "Get in here right now."

Verity looked up, alarmed.

"You can't be out here," he said, lowering his voice. "They're all after you, you know."

"Who are?" she asked.

"The securitrons." He took a second look at her. "Why the fuck are you dressed like that?"

She narrowed her eyes. "This has been a rough fucking couple of weeks," she said. "Okay?"

"Okay!" he said. "Fine! Get inside." He held open a door in a shabby building for them. Verity waved Gabe away, and felt a twinge of pride when he did as he was told. Boone insisted on going in first, and only let the others in after he'd made sure it was safe.

The room was lit by a dim, flickering bulb. The man that had called them in was young, with a dark patchy beard and wild hair. He was wearing leather trousers and a t-shirt that had been ripped and stitched back together.

"Jesus," he said. "I don't even know how you got this far."

"What?" Verity asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Securitron patrols," he said. "Since just after you disappeared. They're everywhere."

"Even here?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"Well, we tried to stop them – build up barriers they couldn't get through; pile up debris – but that didn't stop them for long."

"Sounds like someone's not looking forward to receiving a visitor," said Betsy, smiling faintly. "Isn't that interesting."

Verity grinned. "All this for little old me? He shouldn't have."

"He's scared," said Boone. "Probably set this up when he heard you'd gotten away. Knew you'd be coming back."

"G-gotten away and travelling with a t-team of snipers," said Ten. "I wonder if he ever goes outside."

"So what's your plan?" asked the man who had let them in.

Verity looked at him thoughtfully. He could be a spy. If Benny had securitron patrols, it wasn't unrealistic to think he'd have human lookouts as well.

"I need to get to Freeside," she said, carefully.

"To see the Followers?" asked Betsy.

Verity shook her head. "No. I should leave them out of it. If we get tracked down there, there could be some casualties. Not keen for that."

"Then where?" the man asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can help you get over there," he said, hurriedly. "That's all. Anything to get rid of this curfew, it's killing us."

"If you can help me get to Freeside," she said. "I'll be able to take care of the rest."

"Okay," he said. "How about we go around the back? Up against the mountains, behind the solar panels. Then through the North Gate."

"Alright," said Verity. "But if anything looks like it's going to go bad, I'm looking at you."

He nodded.

"And," she said, slowly. "If we all get out of this okay I'll give you a lot of caps. Let's say five thousand. And you should probably tell us your name."

"I'm Sam," he said. "And we should leave. It's not going to go well for me if they find you here."

"Alright," said Verity. "You guys ready? Let's go."

The sky was darkening rapidly as they set out again. They looked distinctive – but short of robbing a house for spare clothes, they couldn't do much about it. It took them most of the night to make the journey. Verity kept stealing glances at the Lucky 38 rising high above the city, a pillar of light in the darkness. At least it wasn't the first time she'd had to break back into her own city.

The moon gleamed off the glass and steel of the solar panels, reflecting eerily. As they approached the city, Verity could see what Sam had been talking about. In the distance, she could see mechanical figures patrolling the roads that circled the city.

She borrowed Boone's rifle to look through the scope. The securitrons were rolling past regularly, although they weren't close enough to see the gate.

With a sinking heart, she made her way further along. The Lucky 38 was behind them, now, and every step they took away from it was making her feel worse.

Eventually, the rows of solar panels ended. They had walked slightly past the gate and were looking back from behind an old, abandoned house. Borrowing Boone's scope again, she focused on the gate, between the pillars of the old highway overbridge. Three securitrons stood at the red double doors of the gate itself, while securitrons in pairs patrolled the perimeter close after one another.

"Fucked," she said, leaning back against the wall. "We – are fucked. There's no way we're getting past that without being spotted."

"Why can't we just shoot our way in?" asked Betsy, looking through her own scope. "Those things don't take that much firepower to take down."

"It's a numbers thing," said Charlie, bitterly. "Same reason we lost the war. We can shoot our way in, but that'll alert them and if the NCR couldn't take down everything inside then odds are we can't either."

"W-what about if we had disguises?" asked Ten.

"They have some pretty advanced facial recognition techniques," said Verity, closing her eyes. "Okay. I was hoping to avoid this." She looked back up at them. "But it's going to have to be the sewers."

Boone nodded, but the other members of First Recon blanched. "Are you serious?" asked Betsy.

"It's not _that_ bad," she said. "It smells a bit, but people actually live down there so it's not going to kill you."

"It's not somewhere you want to spend a lot of time," said Boone. "But-" he glanced at Verity. "You get used to it if you're there long enough."

Verity grinned at him. "Sorry, okay?" she said, touching his arm. "I know I took you to a lot of shitty places. Pun intended." He smiled back before looking away.

She watched him a moment longer before turning to Sam. "We don't need to get too much closer," she said. "So you can leave if you don't want to follow us along down there. I have some pretty good maps."

"Right," he said, looking uncomfortable. "So you know your way from here?"

"More or less," said Verity. "Thanks for your help."

"No problem," he said. "Good luck."

They watched as he left.

"Right," said Verity. "I'm taking a bit of a gamble on this, but securitrons are going to be fucking useless down there because of the steps and ladders. I'm also guessing that Benny's going to think that I think that I'm too good for the sewers." She paused. "But then, he hasn't seen me get my hands dirty for a long time."

They made their way, almost inch by inch, closer to the gate. Verity scanned the street ahead. There should be one not too far away – the whole region was riddled with them.

They were too close to the gates for comfort when Boone spotted one on the road ahead, holding up one hand and pointing with the other.

Verity looked up at the gate ahead of them. A securitron patrol had just passed, leaving the two robots stationed at the gate looking after them.

"Go," she hissed.

Boone darted forward and wrenched the plate from the street surface. They dropped in, one by one, boots clanging on the metal walkway underneath. Boone closed the manhole again, over their heads. It was pitch black.

"Jesus," said Charlie, holding her sleeve up to her nose. "What the hell is that?"

"We're in a sewer," said Verity, switching on her pip-boy light. "Fuck do you think it is?"

The walls of the tunnel were streaked with grime, the pipes along the wall rusting. Their eyes adjusted to the dark slowly as Verity led them along, checking her pip-boy for directions.

"People live d-down here?" asked Ten quietly as they came out into a larger space. Burning barrels were dotted around the room, and there were sheets of cardboard made into rough sleeping pallets in the corners.

"Yeah," said Verity, quietly. Another thing she hadn't fixed.

They walked onwards.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" asked Charlie, after they'd been walking for almost an hour. They were sloshing through a puddle of vaguely radioactive filth, in the tunnel section of the sewers, the walls curved concrete, the roof above them low and rounded. Verity's socks and shoes were soaked through. They had already doubled back once after somehow ending up near old Aerotech Park. Verity wasn't even sure how that had happened.

"Mostly," said Verity, brightly.

"Because I am losing the will to live," Charlie continued.

"What a pity," replied Verity.

"And," Charlie said. "I think you're just picking directions at random."

"Charlie," said Betsy. "Christ. No one wants to be in these goddamn sewers for any longer than we have to be. Rein it in."

It was almost half an hour later that Verity found the right exit. Some she had discounted as being too far away from her destination, some too close to the major roads, both making it too dangerous to risk coming into contact with the unknown securitron patrol routes. But this one – this one should get them there.

She cracked the manhole cover a fraction, just to peer out. It was still dark, but only just, the first light of dawn beginning to streak the horizon. She narrowed her eyes for a second. They could make it.

She shoved the manhole cover off and hauled herself out. "Follow me," she hissed. "We don't have much time."

Verity led them, at a jog, through the back streets of Freeside, where debris littered the streets and the old railway tracks twisted into a curl of metal. Her pulse was racing, and her eyes were bright.

Boone figured out where they were going, and turned to her with a questioning look on his face.

"I don't have a choice," she said to him, quietly. "This is really the only person I can go to."

"Things didn't go well last time you met him," he said, keeping his voice as low as hers.

"They didn't go that badly, either," she said. "I think this is going to work."

They were at the west end of New Vegas, in the ghetto, where people still slept rough or crammed themselves into tiny rooms. The old railway building, its windows boarded up, was in front of them.

Verity walked up to the door and banged on it loudly.

There was a muffled conversation inside, then it opened a crack. "What is it?" a man asked suspiciously.

"I want to talk to Stark," she said.

"Who are you?"

"Tell him – it's the Courier."

The door closed again. Verity couldn't' quite hear what was being said, and was just about to put her ear against the door when it opened again.

Stark stood in front of them, blonde hair swept back into a pompadour and wearing that red leather jacket. "You got a lot of nerve coming here," he said, but his tone was mild.

"I need your help," said Verity.

"Sure looks like you do," he said, casting a disdainful eye over her green dress and sodden shoes. "Thing I'm wondering is, what's in it for me?"

"Can we talk terms once we're inside?" she asked. "I gotta look after these guys." She nodded at the others behind her.

Stark looked at her for a moment before replying. "This is a hell of a bad idea," he said. "But I'm gonna let you in." He stood back.

The soldiers filed in, Verity entering last.

The room was dark and cluttered, a lantern on a desk the only light source. There were men sleeping on mattresses on the floor.

"So I think I can guess what you want from me," he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the desk. "You want a way in to the Strip. Well, I can get that for you – but what can you give me in return?"

She sighed. "What's the place been like while I've been away?" she asked, instead of answering his question.

"Fuckin' mess," he said. "Everyone's on edge. The money's all staying in the Strip again. But – it's been bad a long time. You say one thing, he says another. You're tearing this city apart.

She nodded. "This has been coming for a long time," she said, wearily. "Look. Stark. We know this can't continue. Not just this situation right now, but – this whole system."

There was a flicker of curiosity in his eye. "Yeah," he said. "So what you planning to do about it?"

"If you get me back in," she said. "I take Benny down; sort the last of the things I have to do out – and then step down."

His eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you'll do that?" he asked. "Seems like you could go back on that pretty easily to me."

"Because," she sighed. "I'm tired, Stark. I'm not a politician. I'm not doing the best for this city. I made a promise, long ago to a friend of mine that I was going to make this city independent. And I think it's about time I did that."

She heard Boone stir in the corner, but kept her eyes on the kid in front of her.

He shook his head, slowly. "Never thought I'd see the day," he said. "Well – god damn it. Give me your word. Then I'll believe you."

"You have my word," she said. "I don't screw over my friends, Stark. Never know when I'll need them again."

There was a flicker of a smile. "You know what?" he asked. "_Courier_? I think I'm going to help you."


	80. His Truth is Marching On

This has somehow ended up being simultaneously longer than I was expecting and kind of a really short chapter. Featuring: the second time in my life I attempt to write a sex scene!

Special thanks go to Niule for moral support and being super helpful.

* * *

"All of the casinos have secret exits. I don't know where all of them are, but I can take you to our one."

Stark led them confidently through a twisting series of back streets, ducking through doorways of dilapidated buildings and under tunnels of debris she hadn't even realised went anywhere.

"Well that's a huge fucking security risk," she said, gloomily. "Still, guess I never could figure out how Benny got away that one time."

"You didn't know about them?" he asked.

She sighed "Guess I never had to use them. Until now. Well I guess except for the 38, which basically involved climbing a million stairs, but that wasn't from out in Freeside."

They entered a small building, and Stark lifted a hatch in the floor.

"Please tell me that's not another sewer," said Charlie.

Stark raised his eyebrow. "We prefer not to use sewers to travel, where possible," he said, with a faint sneer. "That's just a personal preference. You know."

"Sounds good to me," said Charlie, bitterly, as she dropped into the trapdoor. The rest followed her.

The tunnel beneath was well-lit and neatly tiled. They followed Stark for what almost twenty minutes before the tunnel ended suddenly, a metal staircase leading up into another trapdoor. He pushed it open and let them climb out.

Verity would recognise the red velvet anywhere, hanging in thick luxurious falls. She smiled. She was back in what used to be Gomorrah – the Flaming Star. It seemed like years since she'd been here, so far away from the wasteland outside the city walls.

Stark looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "You're going to have to see the King," he said. "Everything goes through him."

"Of course it does," she muttered.

"Follow me," he said.

They climbed the flights of stairs up to his office. Stark disappeared through the door for a moment, closing it carefully behind him. It was almost ten minutes before he re-emerged and waved them in. He didn't follow them into the room

The King's huge heart shaped bed still dominated the room, with an ebony-lacquered desk sitting to one side as almost an afterthought. The carpet was a thick, plush red, and the large window at the back of the room looked out over all of Freeside.

The King didn't show any sign of surprise to see her, or the exhausted soldiers that followed her into the room.

"Hey, baby," he drawled. Her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach at the sound of his voice. "Looks like you could use my help."

She could feel herself blushing. "I don't remember who owes who what favour at the moment," she said, words coming out in a rush. "I've never really kept track."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Don't talk like that," he said. "This ain't a business transaction, baby. This is about what's right. And what's right now is getting you where you need to be."

She slumped in relief, and almost tumbled over. Boone caught her arm tightly to steady her, looking at her in concern.

"Looks like you folks could do with a rest," said the King. "Especially in your condition, baby."

Verity winced, but the King continued as if he hadn't noticed. "I'll give you some of the bigger suites. Order room service, whatever you want. You're safe here. You have my word."

She noticed Boone cast a questioning glance towards her, and nodded surreptitiously. There weren't many people she could trust in this town, but with the King she always knew where she stood. They followed a kings member as he led them downstairs to the hotel suites.

Verity and Boone took a suite. The others picked out individual rooms for themselves, but all trooped into Betsy's room. Verity watched as the door closed behind them, frowning. It must be strange for them. To be uprooted from all you ever knew. And for it all to be because of her.

The suite Verity had been given was large and luxurious, with pillars plated in what was probably not actually gold leaf and velvet curtains hanging along the walls. To one side there was a couch facing a television. There was a small bar just behind that, and opposite it was a door that presumably led to a kitchen and bathroom, and a staircase that went up to the upper level.

Verity kicked her soaking, oversized shoes into a corner, and peeled off her socks, two on each foot. The large patterned rug on the carpet was luxuriously soft under her feet, and she wriggled her toes gratefully. "I am never putting those on again," she said. "I need a bath. Possibly more than I need anything else in the world. Unzip." She turned her back to Boone, who obediently stepped towards her. He took hold of the concealed zipper between his fingers and lowered it, gently, all the way to the base of her spine. He used his thumb to slide one strap of her dress off her shoulder, then the other. He slid his hands down her arms, pulling the dress down, away from her body. She was almost frozen, unable to move, her heart beating rapidly. He gently lifted the strap of her dress around her pip boy, and then let it drop to the floor around her feet.

She felt his hand, warm against her skin, as he curled it gently around one side of her neck and lowered his head to kiss the other side of her neck where it met her shoulder. His lips on her skin made her gasp, her back straightening reflexively.

"Mm," she said, leaning back into him, feeling the rough fabric of his uniform against her bare back. The metal of his belt buckle was cold against her skin, and she reached back with her hands to unbuckle it.

"Not yet," he said, his voice low and husky in her ear.

She let her hands drop back to her sides compliantly, the breath catching in her throat. She could feel the blood rushing to her skin.

He lowered a hand to her side, agonisingly slowly, down past the curve of her waist. His fingers slid under the elastic of her briefs, grazing her hipbone.

She made a noise in the back of her throat that was half moan and half whine, and tried to turn around. "Craig," she said. "I-"

"Shh," he said, gripping her upper arms tightly to keep her in place. "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. But tonight –you're mine."

She hesitated for a moment, then relaxed in his grip, smiling faintly.

"Good," he said, taking a half step forward, wrapping his arms around her. He moved his hand under the fabric of her bra, a thumb brushing across her nipple. She melted against him, feeling his familiar warmth. She let him take her weight, her head falling back on his shoulder. His stubble was rough against her cheek.

His free hand ventured downwards again, snagging the waistband of her briefs and dragging them downwards, and then he was pulling her bra up, over her head. She raised her arms to assist him. Finally, he turned her around. Her skin was burning, her throat dry, her hands clenched by her sides to stop herself from reaching for him.

He took her face in both hands and kissed her, gently. She surrendered, her lips opening to his. She looked up with him with wide eyes as he pulled back. Her breath was rapid; shallow.

"Couch or bed?" she asked, words coming out in a rush, unable to stop herself from speaking.

"Couch is closer," he said. She squeaked as he picked her up, carried her over to the white leather couch, and laid her down on it. He kissed her face, her throat, continuing down her body.

She gasped, grasping at the fabric of his uniform, fingers pulling him towards her. She bent her leg slightly, leaning it against the back of the couch, letting him in closer. She gasped for breath, writhing under his lips and tongue until-

She came with a muffled moan, biting her lip as her back arched against the leather cushions as it washed over her. Finally, she lay, exhausted, on the couch, her heart thumping in her chest. Boone pressed a kiss to her inner thigh and moved over her, holding himself up with arms either side of her shoulders, his knee next to her hip.

"You feeling alright?" he asked, smiling.

"I'll let you know," she said, panting. "If I can ever talk properly again."

He leaned down to kiss her again. She lifted herself up to meet him, curling a hand around the back of his neck.

Finally, she tore the jacket of his uniform from him, ripped open the buckle of his belt. He kicked off his boots and trousers and was back on top of her, heat pouring from his skin. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, and licked her dry lips to moisten them.

He lowered himself to her again. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his arms tightly as he slid inside her, her eyes closing as he began to move with long, slow thrusts. His forearms pressed into the couch either side of her shoulders.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. She moved with him, clutching at him, opening her mouth to his, lifting herself towards him. She could hear his breathing become ragged, less even, and finally he gave a muffled groan. His movements became slower; gentler, and she reached up to kiss him. He let his forehead fall to touch hers. She smiled up at him.

"Let's just stay here forever," she murmured.

He reached down and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. "If you want," he said, quietly. "But didn't you say you wanted a bath?"

"Did I say that?" she asked. "I don't remember."

He smiled and pulled back. "I'll run it for you."

She sat up. "Really?"

"Yeah," he called back. "Won't be long."

She smiled. "Guess I'll clean this up then," she said, quietly.

The bathwater was warm and soapy, and eased the ache in her legs and back. She slid down into the water, ducking her head under the bubbles. Her hair was longer than she usually ever kept it, now, and it was straggly, hanging in damp strands over her eyes. She reached for the mini-bottle of shampoo on the table next to the bath and rubbed the contents into her hair, then piled it all up on top of her head.

For some reason, she really, _really_, needed to look good for whatever was going to happen tomorrow. It wasn't enough to just be prepared, she had to be flawless. She wondered if Benny was thinking about her right now; if he knew she was coming for him. This was almost like the first time she'd hunted him down, now that she thought about it. Maybe she could just do the same thing again, waltz through the front door and ask the greeter where he was. Although it probably shouldn't end the same way as the first time had. She grimaced.

She needed a gun and a couple of pulse grenades for any securitrons he might have and maybe some armour and she was going to have to climb those _fucking stairs _again, wasn't she-

She was distracted from her thoughts as Boone came into the room. She looked up at him through damp lashes. His face was tense and drawn.

"Is everything-" she began.

"Verity," he said.

She stared at him. "Yes?" She could feel her forehead wrinkling in concern.

"Well," he said, haltingly. "I've been thinking about this for a while, now."

Another long pause.

A knot of tension began to curl in her stomach. "Think about what?" she asked.

"Well, I think that, because of the baby, and everything that's going on right now-"

She narrowed her eyes. "If you're going to tell me not to go find Benny tomorrow, you can stop now, because-"

"It's not that," he said, closing his eyes briefly. "Look. I just – just think it would be a good idea if – if we got married."

Her mouth fell open. She felt it fall open, and couldn't do a damn thing about it. Her eyes opened wide. She blinked, a couple of times, then swallowed thickly. "Haah," she said. "Um. Um. What?"

He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Verity," he said, after a brief pause. "I'm asking you to marry me."

She stared. "Holy shit," she said.


	81. So Hush, Little Baby

She saw a crease begin to form between his eyebrows. "This isn't really how I expected this to go," he said, his voice strained.

She fought down a sudden urge to laugh hysterically. The bathwater suddenly seemed far too warm, the air too thick to breathe. "Well I never even expected – I just – I don't –don't know how to – no one's ever asked me to marry them before."

He stared at her a moment before replying. "Well," he said, slowly. "If you want to get married, you say yes. If you don't, you say no."

The tremor in his voice at the end of his sentence made her chest clench painfully.

"Okay," she said, her eyes wide.

He took a deep breath. "_Okay_, you'll marry me, or _okay,_ you understand what I just said?"

"Well," she said, her heart thumping in her chest. "I guess – both? It – it does make sense."

He stood there, just inside the door, almost as if he was frozen, for a moment, and then let out a long breath. "Okay," he said, after a moment. "Okay. Good."

He came towards her, crouching down next to the tub. "I got you a ring," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"Did you really have to ask this while I was in the bath?" asked Verity, light-headed. "It's a very vulnerable position to be asked an important question in."

He paused, then looked up at her. "Sorry," he said. "It couldn't wait any longer."

He brought his hand out of his pocket, holding a small gold ring between his fingers. She curled her left hand into a fist reflexively when he reached out for it, but forced herself to open it up again. Her hand was shaking as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

She stared at it on her hand. It gleamed gently. There was a small diamond set into the band. "Oh, fuck," she said. "Fucking Christ."

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing," she said. "Freaking out a little. Just a little, though."

"You sure about this?" he asked, hesitantly. "You don't have to say yes."

She wrapped her hands over the side of the bath, and looked into his eyes. "Yes," she said.

He clasped his hands over hers, threading their fingers together. "I love you," he said.

"I – love you too," she said.

"Think that's the first time we've said that to each other at the same time," he said.

Verity snorted with laughter. "That's _so_ fucked up."

"Sure is," he replied, with a self-conscious smile.

He disentangled his hands gently from hers and stood up. "I'll order us something to eat," he said. "I'll let you know when it gets here."

She watched him leave the room, then let out a long breath. She looked at the empty doorway, a comforting oblong of light; the pale wallpaper and the deep red carpet of the hallway. The same as it had been five minutes ago.

It was almost as if nothing had happened at all. Except – she looked down at her hand. The ring felt strange on her finger. She stared at it, moving her hand so the light sparkled off the stone. She was confused; mesmerised; stunned. She tapped her hand gently against the porcelain of the bath, hearing it clink against the metal of the ring, and then stared at it some more.

"Holy shit," she said, again, the bathwater slowly growing cold around her. Everything had changed. From sleeping in abandoned buildings and scavenging for irradiated food to having room service delivered in a luxurious hotel suite. She looked down at the bubbles surrounding her, blankly. It didn't make any sense.

"Food's here!" she heard Boone call from the main room. She carefully took the ring off and placed it on the table next to the bath, then ducked her head under the water to rinse out her hair.

Later, when they were in bed, she curled up against his side, a hand draped over his hips. She couldn't sleep, and kept stirring uneasily.

"You alright?" Boone asked, sleepily.

"I'm scared," she said, quietly.

He rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "You're going to be okay," he said. "I've still got your back."

She smiled into the darkness.

* * *

She woke up early, her heart pounding. It took her a moment to calm down. Safe. She was safe. Boone's arm was around her, and the sunlight was just beginning to creep in through the cracks in the curtains.

She got up, uneasily, and headed back downstairs. Her face looked pale and anxious in the bathroom mirror. She stared at herself uncomfortably for a long moment, and then returned to the main room. She eyed the bottles of whiskey lining the bar shelves in the corner, then lifted the receiver to call reception.

"Hi," she said, resting her forehead in her free hand. "Sergio still around? Great. Could you send him down please?"

When Boone came downstairs an hour later, the lounge was a flurry of activity. There were clothes laid out on the couch; draped over the backs of chairs; piled on the table. Verity was wearing a bathrobe, her hair in curlers.

"I just feel like I need some kind of face –" she gestured with a hand – "disguise thing. I can't exactly walk in there wearing a hockey mask, you know?"

Stark was sitting on a chair in the corner, looking exhausted. Sergio was following Verity around with a can of hairspray. One of the King's groupies was there, holding up outfits experimentally. There was a full-length mirror propped against one wall and a pile of shoes in a corner.

"How about," suggested the groupie. "Some kind of headpiece with a veil. They're popular this season."

Verity paused, and was engulfed in a cloud of hairspray. "That's a good idea!" she said. "Have to be a pretty heavy veil though."

"Obscuring the top half of your face should be enough to disrupt the securitrons' facial recognition," said Stark, wearily.

"Why don't you use a stealthboy?" asked Boone, venturing into the mess hesitantly.

She shook her head. "Stealthboys would work from a distance, maybe, but not close up. They have some bio-something scanner shit. Otherwise anyone with enough caps to buy a stealthboy could get into the Strip through the front gates."

"How's this?" asked the groupie, holding up a dress.

"Red velvet," said Verity. "Revolutionary."

The groupie pouted. "You don't have to be mean."

Verity sighed. "I'll try it on." She shrugged off the bathrobe and stepped into the dress.

"Whoa." Stark turned his head, pointedly.

Verity rolled her eyes and turned to the mirror. "Hey, this actually looks pretty good."

"Told you."

The dress was tight, just past knee-length, and had a plunging neckline. She turned to Sergio. "Do you have some red lipstick?"

"Honey," he said, holding up a hand. "I don't know what you think I do here, but I do hair. That's all."

"Ugh," said Stark. "Call me when you actually need something." He headed out the door.

"How's this?" The groupie handed her a tube of lipstick she'd pulled out of her cleavage.

It was unpleasantly warm in Verity's fingers. "Er, thank you." She leaned towards the mirror and applied it carefully. "Good," she said, thoughtfully. "This is good."

"Here's the hat I was talking about," she replied, handing Verity a pillbox hat with a black veil. She held it carefully in place over the rollers, and pulled the veil down low over her eyes.

"Could we maybe get another veil and stick it over the top of this one?" asked Verity. "Just layer them right on up. I need this to be really black."

"You still need to see through it," said the groupie.

"No I don't!" said Verity. "I can kind of just stagger along. It'll be fine."

Boone took a step towards the door.

"Wait," said Verity. "We need to get you a suit too, he's going to be expecting NCR soldiers. Might as well get the others, too."

* * *

"Nope," said Betsy. "I don't do dresses. Haven't worn a skirt since I was ten and I ain't gonna start up again at my age."

"Y-yeah," said Ten. "No skirts for me either."

Verity grinned. "Could you get us a bunch of suits?" she asked the groupie.

"Do I really have to be part of this?" asked Charlie.

Verity blinked at her for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said. "Actually, no. You can walk now if you want. You're not really affiliated with me here so you probably won't be in trouble. Unless your names got publicly released or something."

"Charlie," said Boone, quietly. "It'll be over soon. Stick with us until then."

"Fine," she said, after a moment. "Fine. Dresses. Whatever. I don't even have a gun."

"Neither," said Verity. "But don't worry about that. The King's helping us out, here, and while I am absolutely sure it's going to cost me later, we don't have a problem getting any equipment we need."

Charlie shrugged, and began sorting through the pile of clothes on the couch.

"So how's this?" asked Betsy.

Verity turned. Betsy was standing there in a tuxedo, adjusting her bow tie. The trousers were fitted around her narrow hips, and the sleeves of the jacket were rolled up almost to her elbows.

"Goddamn," said Verity, staring. "You can really work that look."

Betsy glanced over at Boone. "Told you I'd get her away from you one day," she said with a grin.

Boone was buttoning up his shirt. Verity smiled softly as she watched him.

"Think you might be a little too late," said Ten. "And you c-call yourself a spotter."

"Wha-" Betsy began, her eyes widening, before her gaze dropped to Verity's hand. "So you finally did it, huh? Just as well."

"C-congratulations," said Ten. "Do we get invited to the wedding?"

"Do the people that saved me from being executed get wedding invites?" Verity asked. "Well, you know, if I can fit you all in."

"They weren't going to execute you," muttered Charlie, still sifting through the piles of clothes. "When are we going over, anyway?"

"I'm thinking about 11pm," said Verity. "Leave it until the night's far enough gone that he thinks nothing's going to happen, not so late that it's almost empty."

Charlie nodded in response.

"And," said Verity. "I should go see the King. Talk about guns and stuff. I'll be back soon."

"Wait!"

She turned to see Sergio striding towards her.

"Not until I take those rollers out. You can't go out looking like that!"

* * *

The King was sitting at a table in the bar, watching the acts on the stage rehearse. A young man was on stage, strumming on an acoustic guitar gently.

"Mind if I sit down?" asked Verity.

"Please," said the King. He watched her as she pulled out her seat. "You look good. Benny ain't gonna know what hit him."

She blushed. "Thank you," she managed.

"Never trusted him, you know," the King continued. "Man's out for himself and nobody else."

"Then you're smarter than I was," said Verity. "I just – saw a man trying to put his past behind him. Get away from his old life and try to forge something new."

The King looked down at the table. "Ain't nobody can blame a man for that."

"Yeah," agreed Verity, quietly.

After a moment the King looked back up at her. "You sure about this, baby? It ain't going to be easy."

"I don't really have much of a choice," she replied.

"You are one hell of a hard-headed woman," said the King.

She smiled. "Having a hard head is the only reason I'm alive today," she said.

He laughed. "You know what?" he said. "Take this with you." He reached into his pocket, and placed a pistol on the table. It was a tiny snub-nosed thing, but had a mother-of-pearl handle and gold etching around the barrel. "Should be able to get that into the Lucky 38 no trouble. I call it my Good Luck Charm. Think you're going to need it more than I do."

She picked it up gently. "Thank you," she said. "I'm going to owe you a huge favour."

"Baby," he said. "I think you might just be doing me one."

She smiled. "Thanks for lending me your – uh-"

"Gillian," the King supplied. "She loves dressing people up."

"Yes. Thanks."

"Talk to Stark if you need anything else," he said.

"Is he the one that shot at me one time I was here?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Now baby," he said. "I wouldn't know a thing about that."

* * *

"What are you doing for weapons?" asked Stark. They were sitting at the table back in Verity's suite.

"I was thinking we could disassemble some of the rifles and reassemble them once we're inside," said Verity. "But I'm beginning to think we won't be able to get them all in like that."

Stark tapped his fingers against the wooden surface of the table. "It'll be easier if we send a few of our guys over with you. Though it'd pay to have some holdouts ready if they do pick anything up. What do your soldiers use?"

"10mm," said Verity. "But I had this amazing silenced .45 that I got from up north, got anything like that?"

"Yeah, can probably get our hands on some of those. What about you?"

"The King gave me his Good Luck Charm."

Stark frowned. "What is it with you two? You've gotten more out of him than anyone I've ever known."

Verity sat back in her chair. "I've given him more, too. We're not – _friends_. And I think we both learned from what happened to Pacer. That went badly. Did you know him?"

"Yeah," said Stark. "Kind of an asshole."

"That's the one," agreed Verity. "If the King had called him off early it wouldn't have ended in a shootout with the NCR. Nobody really won that one. So now – let's say we understand each other's way of working."

Stark leaned a little closer. "What do you care if the Kings and the NCR wanna kill each other?"

Verity stared at him for a long moment before answering. "It's unnecessary," she said. "Now, are we done here? I think that's everything."

Stark shrugged. "Sure thing."

* * *

The hours lengthened into the night. The ex-soldiers were having a beer at the bar in the corner of the suite. Verity hadn't seen the others in formal clothes before, and the experience was slightly jarring. Charlie was wearing a black dress with a high slit up the side. Betsy was leaning on the bar in her tux, and Ten and Boone were both wearing dark suits.

Verity was pacing around the ground floor, and although she'd told Boone she was just trying to get used to the heels she'd borrowed, she wasn't sure he believed her.

"Do you w-want a nuka-cola?" asked Ten.

Verity turned.

"No!" said Boone, a little too loudly. "They've got caffeine in them."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked.

"It's bad for the baby," he said, lowering his voice.

Verity stared. "Are you serious? No alcohol _and_ no caffeine?"

"Uh huh." He nodded. "Sarsparilla?"

She walked to the bar to take the offered bottle. "Christ."

There was a low knock on the door, but it opened without waiting for an answer. Stark walked in with a suitcase in each hand, and a couple of kings behind him.

"Okay," he said, opening the cases onto the table. One had four handguns inside, and the other was lined with explosives. "Benny hasn't been seen on the shop floor in days. So this is how it's going to go. Your cover story is, you're from out of town and you're staying a night. Ask for a couple of rooms. We all come up to the suites, put the rifles together, and take the stairs up to the penthouse. I'll blow the door. We take care of any security and then you can do – whatever. Sound good?"

Verity grinned, shifting her weight onto one foot. "I thought I was going to have to come up with a plan," she said. "This is actually awesome."

For the first time, Stark gave her a hint of a smile. "Came to me for a reason, didn't you?" he asked, with a quirk of his eyebrow. "You kids ready?"

Verity looked around at the others, their solemn faces. She took a deep breath. "Yeah," she said. "I think we are."

* * *

A/N: I honestly intended to write the Benny confrontation scene at least two updates ago. It just keeps getting pushed back by other stuff that needs to go in first :(

I also think being so close to the end is giving me the energy to update faster. I'm not as young as I once was.


	82. Don't You Cry

This has been a long, long time in coming. Also I am insanely close to 500 reviews holy hell how did this happen

* * *

Verity was trembling as they walked slowly up the stairs to the casino exit, struggling a little to readjust to wearing heels again. The Kings around them were carefully not paying attention to the group, but the gamblers on the casino floor watched them curiously. Stark was leading the group with a careless swagger. He pushed open the front doors and waited for the rest of the group to step out into the street.

The night wrapped around them, dark and cold. The entrance to the Lucky 38 was only a few feet away, the lights welcoming them in.

Halfway across the road, a securitron rolled in front of them. "Passports, please," it said.

Verity froze, breath catching in her throat, but Stark stepped forward, holding a document up to the robot's sensors.

"Proceed."

They walked around it carefully and continued on.

The door of the 38 swung open as they approached. Verity kept her head down, the veil shielding her eyes from the greeters.

"Weapons?" The girl on the door was polite, but serious. Verity kept her head down, eyes shielded by the veil, and shook her head. She watched the girl's feet come a little closer, give her a quick once over, then move on to Betsy, standing next to her. She didn't let herself relax as the greeter opened the bags they were carrying for a cursory check, and kept her hands loose and by her side, fighting to avoid clenching them into fists or fidgeting. She knew the signs to look for in a nervous patron. Her heart was thumping so hard it made her almost feel sick.

"We're after a couple of rooms," said Betsy.

"Mm-hmm," said the greeter, disinterestedly. "Just ask reception and they'll sort you out." She took a step back. "Well, you're good. Have a great evening and enjoy your stay at the Lucky 38."

Betsy walked up to the front desk and leaned over it, talking to the desk clerk. A moment later she stood back up, looked over at the others, and jerked her head towards the elevators.

It wasn't until they were all in the elevator, alone, that Verity realised she'd been holding her breath. She let it all out in a whoosh. Boone rubbed her back gently.

"You doing okay?" he asked, quietly.

"Yeah," she said. "Alright."

"Not long now."

She nodded jerkily. "I know."

The elevator opened with a ding. They stepped out onto the thick crimson carpet of one of the suites levels, and followed it along the hall, past large potted plants and hanging framed photographs until Betsy stopped. She bent to unlock the door, and opened it.

Verity hadn't spent much time in the hotel suites, downstairs from both the Presidential and the penthouse. They needed updating, she noted, as she ran a finger over an armchair – the fabric had been luxurious once, but it was faded and wearing thin. She pulled off her hat and dropped it onto the seat.

"You alright?"

She looked up. Betsy was looking at her strangely. She had already opened her suitcase on the bed, and she and the others were busy assembling their rifles.

"My heart feels a little bit like it's going to explode," Verity admitted.

"Keep it together," Betsy said. "You need a gun?"

Verity shook her head. "No, I've got one," she said, reaching a hand down the front of her dress and fishing around inside her bra. "Wait – here." She pulled out the tiny pistol that the King had given her.

"Good," said Betsy.

"It's g-going to be okay, you know," said Ten. "You've got the best squad of crack shots the NCR army ever had b-behind you."

She smiled, but it felt fake on her face. "Yep," she said. "Couldn't ask for a better team. Just – I guess, normally, I'd have a drink or someth-"

"Nope," said Boone, not looking up from his rifle.

"I _know_," she said, irritably. "I'm just – not used to dealing with – things." She watched Boone's practiced fingers moving over his rifle, carefully fitting the parts back together.

He rested his fingertips on it and looked up at her. "You've done this before."

"What, confront Benny?" she snapped. "Yeah, I was drunk then."

"Huh," he said. "Yeah. That's right."

She flushed. "And I wasn't really planning on repeating any of my strategies from that night, to be honest."

He looked at her for a moment longer. "Good," he said. "So you don't need a drink. Are you ready?"

She sighed, and checked her lipstick in a mirror hanging on the wall. "Sure."

They headed back down the hall towards the elevators, their footsteps quiet on the carpet. One of the suites doors opened just ahead of them, and a woman stepped out into the hall. She turned pale when she caught sight of the group; their rifles and solemn faces.

Verity paused next to her. "Give it fifteen minutes before heading down to the casino floor, would you?" she asked.

"Hey," said the woman. "You're-"

"Yeah, enjoy your stay," Verity muttered half-heartedly as she walked past.

The elevator doors opened. Verity punched in the access code for the penthouse suite and leaned back against the carpeted elevator wall as they began to rise.

"You'll mess your hair up," said Betsy, almost reproachfully.

Verity stepped away from the wall obediently.

"Don't worry," Betsy continued. "You've got this."

Verity offered a weak smile, but it froze on her face as the elevator doors opened.

The room was unlit, the full moon shining through the huge glass windows the only source of light, pooling on the floor.

Verity stepped out carefully, heels clicking on the linoleum. The air smelled like cigarette smoke. She lifted the pistol in her hand and walked over to the handrail, looking out over the mezzanine. The huge screens below them were dark. She couldn't hear anything.

She began to walk slowly down the stairs, the others close behind. She could see them spreading out slightly, scanning the room, in her peripheral vision.

At the bottom of the stairs, she turned towards the bar area. The shapes of the furniture in the darkness were familiar, unmoved since she'd been there last – except – there was a high-backed chair pulled up to the window, a side table next to it. Moonlight gleamed off a glass ashtray on its surface, and as she watched, a hand reached out and tapped a cigarette into it. She could see a pistol on the table, too, along with a glass tumbler and mostly-empty bottle of what looked like whiskey.

"The hell have you been?" Benny's voice was quiet and hoarse. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you?"

"Few weeks?" she suggested, walking towards him carefully.

He didn't move. "So what took you so long?"

"Ran into an old friend," she said. "Getting home took a little longer than anticipated."

"Inconsiderate," he said. "Typical."

She felt a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and bit her lip, hard, to stop it. "You been up here this whole time?" she asked.

"Since I heard you'd escaped. Always knew they couldn't keep you, angel," he said.

"Didn't mean you didn't try your hardest to help them though, did it?"

He rested his cigarette neatly in one of the slots on the ashtray and stood up. He swayed slightly, and threw out a hand to grab the back of the chair for balance.

"Jesus," she said. "Are you really drunk?"

"You don't know what it's been like," he said, turning around to look at her. "Waiting around for you to show up. I'm glad you're here, honestly. Waiting's never been a strong point of mine."

She could see in the dim light that his tie was half undone.

"I see you brought a posse," he said, slowly, looking around at the others. "All of that for me? You shouldn't have, baby."

"This has to be the end, Benny," she said. "Gotta stack the deck in my favour."

"At least you learned that," he said. "Hell of a legacy, isn't it?"

"You've taught me a lot about trust," she said. "I'll admit that."

He laughed. "Oh, baby – it wasn't meant to end up like this. Really it wasn't."

"I was meant to stay dead, right?" she asked. "Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice-"

Benny took a step to the side and reached for the table. She raised her gun to aim it at him, but he picked up his glass instead of his pistol. "There's no way you thought that up just then," he said, taking a gulp. "How long have you been practicing that, angel? Since the day you were up here last?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "How's this going to go, Benny?" she asked.

"Isn't that one up to you?" he asked. "Sweet of you to ask, though."

"I don't know what to do with you," she said, with a half-shrug.

"I could suggest a couple things," said Boone, quietly, from the shadows.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_," said Benny. "I'd forgotten you were there. Maybe it's time to turn the lights on. I think the panel's over by, uh, four-eyes over there." He waved a hand towards the wall.

Ten turned to look around him, running his hands over the wall.

They winced, almost blinded, as electric light flooded the room. Benny held up an arm to shield his eyes. In the light he looked even worse; his eyes bloodshot, his shirt creased, and his jaw unshaven. He took a step towards her, away from the chair he'd been leaning on.

He blinked at Verity in the sudden light. "You're getting fat," he said.

She clenched her jaw tightly. "And you're getting old, Benny," she said, keeping her voice even. "You look like hell."

He grinned. "We had a good run, didn't we?"

"I'm not sure we really did," she admitted. "But – we both tried, I guess."

"It doesn't have to end here," he said, spreading his hands.

"Oh, Benny." She shook her head. "Yes, it does. We might be able to get over a couple of bullets to the head – a misunderstanding, really – but I feel like selling me to the NCR is really a hurdle we can't get over." She narrowed her eyes slightly, watching him. "You're a snake, Benny. You know it. I know it. We both know this is the end."

He gave her a weary, but seemingly-genuine smile. "So what do we do now?" he asked. "You're holding all the cards, angel." He began to walk towards her.

She forced herself to stand her ground as he came closer, her pistol raised. He was still dangerous, even with his gun on the table by the window.

He walked, slowly, towards her until the barrel of her gun was resting flush against his chest, just under his collarbone. "It's your move," he said, low enough so that only she could hear it. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"I don't want to kill you, Benny," she said. "God knows why not, but I really don't."

"What _do_ you want to do, then?" he asked.

She pressed the barrel of the pistol a little harder against him. "You leave," she said. "You get the hell out of town. And you never come back."

He shook his head, grinning. "After all this," he said. "Everything. All of it. You'd just let me walk?"

She lowered her arm slowly, letting the barrel of the pistol slide downwards.

"Well," she said. "Maybe not _walk_."

She pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud, echoing around the room.

Benny gave a gasp of pain, and gripped her shoulders tightly, trying to balance. His glass smashed on the floor. She stepped back, out of his reach. To his credit, he stayed upright as his left trouser leg began to turn red.

She closed her eyes. "Get the hell out, Benny. If I ever see you again, the next one goes in your heart."

He laughed, shakily. "That's cold, angel. I'm almost proud."

She sighed. "Goodbye, Benny," she said, and didn't turn around as he limped up the stairs behind her.

She sighed, looking out over the city, the bright lights of the Strip fading into darkness as the suburbs spread out. Her eyes fell on Benny's pistol, still lying on the table. She felt tears prickling in her eyes, and blinked them away angrily.

She heard the elevator _ding_ as it closed, and then an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"I don't know if that was the right way to do it," she murmured.

"Not the way I would have done it," said Boone. "Still, he's gone."

She nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "Thank you. For coming with me and – letting me do this my way."

He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Anything you need," he said.


	83. You Know Your Daddys

WOW it has been a long time since I've written. Sorry about that. I think after this there should only be one chapter to go until it's finished (and maybe an epilogue?)

* * *

"Oh, hey, you're back," said Yes Man cheerily. "Well done. What did you do with Benny?"

Verity sighed. She was sitting against Yes Man's console, facing away from the screens. She stared at the wall grimly. "Shot him in the leg and let him go," she said. Early morning light was filtering in through the windows, gleaming gently against the brushed metal of the panels against the wall. There was a box in front of her which had most of her old stuff in it – clothes, guns, shoes – that she was slowly going through.

"I think there is something really wrong with your self-preservation instinct," said Yes Man.

"Considering all the evidence," said Verity. "Then – yes. That's probably true."

"So what's your plan for when he comes back?"

"To not be here," said Verity quietly.

"That seems like it'd make things awfully easy for him," said Yes Man. "Which is sweet of you, but confusing."

She sighed again. "I think it's time we ended this," she said. "It doesn't really seem to be getting us anywhere."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

She propped an elbow against her knee and leaned her cheek on her hand. "Us – trying to run things. I just thought – somehow – that if I was in charge I could deal with each problem as it came up. Make sure no one lost out. Fix – everything."

"You were planning to micromanage everything until you die? Sounds familiar."

She tilted her head back, looking up at the screens behind her. "It just seemed so fragile," she said. "All these people wanting different things. I'm just scared that everything will – fall apart after I'm gone."

"Well, now, that's just silly," said Yes Man. "Alright, let me walk you through this."

She shuffled around obediently to face the screens.

"What do people fight each other about the most?" it asked.

She frowned uncertainly. "Money?"

"And you've got a strong economy based on the Strip and have been developing Freeside's economy and job market. What else?"

She blinked. "Land?" she suggested.

"Plenty of that around. And these days, very few predators, human or otherwise."

"Water."

"The pump system out in Freeside and Westside seem to be working fine."

"Food."

"Didn't you mention something from one of your long trips away that could help with that?"

"Yeah," said Verity slowly. "Those vending machines. There's probably tons of stuff that'd be helpful, except they end up making a lot of monsters too."

"I'll take your word for it," chirped Yes Man. "Anyway, you've got your sheriff, and your jail, and the securitrons keeping order. I'd say you're not leaving it in a bad state, all things considered."

"Are you just saying that to encourage me to get out?" she asked.

"Now where did you pick up that cynicism?"

She studied his face, the blank, goofy, non-threatening smile. "I think I'm going to miss you," she said.

"And there it is again," said Yes Man.

She grinned.

* * *

The air conditioning of the hospital buildings hummed and the fluorescent lights flickered as she walked down the corridors of the Followers' hospital. Arcade's office was small and the row of filing cabinets along one wall made it smaller still, with barely enough room for a desk and computer. Stacks of paper covered every available surface. There was even a manila folder balanced precariously on top of the computer.

"I can't believe it," said Arcade, folding his arms. "I didn't think this day would come."

"Well, surprise," said Verity. "I thought I'd tell you before I get the announcement out tomorrow."

He frowned. "You're not stepping down tomorrow, are you?" he asked. "Because I don't think we'll be ready for that."

She smiled wearily. "No," she said. "Just announcing it. Elections and so on. I was hoping you could help with that, actually."

"Well, of course," he said quickly. "I made a whole lot of handover notes back when – well, it was a few months ago." He looked around at the room. "It may take a few days to excavate them, however."

"Whenever possible," she said.

"I still can't believe it," said Arcade. "The end of an era."

"I'd really like it," said Verity. "If you would stop being such a condescending asshole right now."

"Uh, wow," he said, recoiling slightly. "Alright. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you."

"Look, I'm just feeling weird about it, okay?" she relented. "I guess it's a big step. And it's going to be really different."

"I'm – proud of you," he said, gently.

"Fuck off."

"No, really," he insisted, earnestly. "I know this is hard for you. You're changing your entire life."

She sighed. "I just kind of feel like it's giving up," she said. "You know? I mean I've spent – I don't know. Feels like forever. Trying to put things together in a way they won't fall apart. Trying to get people to agree to do stuff in return for other stuff. And now I'm going to be walking away. Guess I always knew it had to end sometime."

"Don't think of it as giving it up," said Arcade. "Think of it as giving it back."

She offered him a weak smile. "That's kind of a nice way of thinking about it," she said.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Honestly?" she asked. "Take a break, I guess. Have this baby. I haven't told Craig about this idea yet, but I kind of want to renovate House Resort, just down where Camp Golf used to be."

"That's a big house for just the two – er, three of you."

"Well," she said. "I guess I'd like it if people could come and stay there. Not like a hotel, exactly, just – people who need some place to go. Friends. People like that." She shrugged a shoulder self-consciously. "Just an idea."

Arcade nodded. "Right," he said. "Sounds – good."

She gazed at him for a moment longer. "Anyway," she said, finally. "I have a lot of stuff to do, so I should really be going." She took a step towards the door, and then hesitated and turned back. "Um. I'm getting married."

"Congratulations?" he said, tentatively.

"I mean," she said. "I'll be having a wedding. It'll probably be soon-ish? And you sh- um." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd like it if you came."

"Oh," said Arcade, blinking at her behind his glasses. "Well – of course."

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him cautiously. "It's – I'd really appreciate it."

She could feel his eyes on her as she left the room.

* * *

She was sitting in the cocktail lounge, watching the golden afternoon sun as it slowly shifted over Freeside and idly stirring a soda with the stick of the tiny umbrella that had been placed in it. It was beautiful, in a way, the milling crowd, the buildings under construction, the line of caravans stretching into the distance.

She'd been swarmed, at first, with people wanting to talk to her and ask her questions about where she'd been and what was going to happen now, but they'd slowly tailed off as the day went on and were now leaving her alone.

She looked up when someone sat down at her table, startled.

Boone reached over and covered her free hand with his. "Hey," he said.

She flipped her hand over so she could curl her fingers around Boone's hand. "Hey."

"You doing okay?"

She smiled. "Yeah," she said. "Just been sorting some things out. How about you, and, uh, the others?"

"It's a big change for them as well," he said. "But it's easy for someone with military training to find work round here."

"It's going to be – different. Not doing this any more." She looked out the window at the desert below them; the golden sand and dust and the purple hills as they faded into the distance.

"Everything out there's still going to be there, you know." he said. "This place can survive without you."

She smiled. "You know what's fucked up?" she asked, quietly. "I wanted to march east. 'Liberate' what's left of the Legion. Make sure nothing they'd put in place outlived them."

"Nothing fucked up about that," said Boone. "Thought of doing something like that a while back. Spend some of my leave time taking out slavers."

She looked up. "Why didn't you?"

He smiled faintly. "Other things needed looking after."

She returned the smile, but it was tinged with sadness. "Well – after a while I just started thinking about how I'd even do it. You'd need some pretty heavy backup. And I couldn't take the securitrons, they're needed here and god knows how they'd deal with the terrain anyway. And I don't know how I'd go about asking the people that live here to sign up and maybe die for this – this idea I had." She broke off with a frown. "Joshua Graham might be able to rally an army like that, but I don't think I could. I don't want to make that kind of decision about people's lives. So I guess I'm not really cut out to be a general."

Boone squeezed her hand.

"I mean like," she continued. "You and the others were different, because we'd work together and keep each other safe and I could make sure you had everything you need and I never wanted to make anyone do anything they didn't want to. But you can't just scale that up from small to big and expect it to all work out."

"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to fix everything."

Verity laughed. "I remember the first time you ever said that to me," she said. "Shit, you were mad at me for – for something. Not taking things seriously. Everything seems so long ago now."

"You've changed a lot, too," he said. "Almost wouldn't recognise you."

"Yeah. You too, I guess." She looked up at him. "We've been through a lot. A lot of bad stuff, and a lot of weird stuff, and some good stuff too.

"Guess we're not doing too bad," he said.

"Guess not," she said, softly.

"I wanted to ask you something," he said. "About the baby."

She braced herself. "Alright."

"If it's a girl – I think she should have a name like yours."

"What?" She frowned.

"Name that means something."

She blinked. "Like – like a 'virtue' name?" she said. "Like – Chastity? Prudence?"

"Those the worst two you can think of?" he asked.

"They're the _first_ two I can think of," she said. "I don't think there are many good ones. Temperance. Um. What else?"

"Faith?" he suggested. "Hope."

She shrugged. "Well – maybe. They're not that bad, I guess. We'll see. Still got a few more months to see how it goes, right?"

"You hate it," he said.

"I don't _hate_ it," she said. "I'll think about it a bit more. Not just like, pretend to think about it, either, actuallythink about it. It's not like I have a billion better ideas right now or anything."

Boone rubbed his thumb across the palm of her hand gently.

"And in any case," she said. "I can't make a decision on something like that right now." She wrinkled her nose. "I apparently have a wedding to plan."


	84. Bound to Die

So this is technically the last chapter! Although there will be a short-ish epilogue coming in the next week or so.

It was my three year anniversary of posting the first chapter of _If I Didn't Care_ yesterday, and I was totally aiming to hit that date but kind of missed it. I am posting it on my birthday instead hooray!

I did want to say thank you to anyone who's read this (a current total of 195,482 hits for all stories? *boggle*), who's been here from the start, in particular the people who have helped me with direction or given me ideas or just told me their opinion of the way things are going, it's been so helpful. And I have met a ton of great and lovely people. If you would like to keep up with me I am on tumblr! The url is in my profile and I am pretty friendly and like people.

Basically thank you for coming on this journey with me and Verity (even before she had a name!) It's been an insane amount of fun.

* * *

Verity looked at herself in the mirror in front of her. The sweeps of winged black eyeliner and carefully-applied peachy-pink blush seemed to change the shape of her face. She hadn't done it herself, of course – somehow a steady hand while shooting didn't translate well into applying liquid eyeliner.

She was alone, sitting at a table in the penthouse of the Lucky 38 for maybe one of the last times ever. She blinked at her reflection. She was wearing a white sheath dress with lace sleeves, cut to skim over her rapidly-growing stomach.

She sighed and looked away. The sky outside was bright and blue, scattered with tiny shreds of cloud.

There was a ding as the elevator doors opened.

"Guess who?" called Veronica.

Verity grinned. "Come in."

Veronica came around the corner in a bright yellow dress and caught Verity's eye in the mirror. "You're wearing white?" She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Verity laughed. "Ronnie," she said. "I love you."

"Whoa." Veronica said. "Bit late for that at this stage, don't you think?"

Verity raised an eyebrow. "So," she said. "Is the speech you're giving after the wedding going to be like, a stand-up comedy routine?"

"S-speech?" asked Veronica, her eyes widening. "Wait, what?"

"Nah, I'm kidding," said Verity. "I just said it to make you stop making fun of me. We're not having speeches, Christ. Imagine that: 'The bride and the groom met in Novac, where they immediately hatched a plan to murder the owner of the local motel, who had sold the groom's previous wife to slavers. Everyone raise your glasses!'"

Veronica's grin was frozen on her face. "Uh – yeah. Probably for the best we're avoiding that. How are you doing up here, anyway?"

"I'm kind of freaking out," said Verity. "Jesus, I wish I was less pregnant so I could do a couple of shots or something. Or a Steady, that'd be nice right about now."

"What are you so worried about?"

Verity's shoulders slumped. "It just – just feels like everything I know is changing."

"We're still going to be here," said Veronica, smiling gently. "I'm not just going to just never see you again. If you do end up at Camp Golf like you said, Hidden Valley is way closer to there than here. And I'll visit you heaps. You know how things get down there."

Verity smiled unsteadily. "I guess," she said.

"Oh no, no," said Veronica. "Don't cry, you'll ruin your makeup." She tilted her head slightly. "Well, you _can_ cry, but don't touch your eyes. Always blot." She reached for a tissue from a box on the table and leaned in to dab at Verity's eyes gently. "There we go."

"Thanks," Verity said, laughing.

"It'll be okay," Veronica said. "Oh, and when you finally pop that thing out I'm going to come visit. Seriously, it's not going to be that easy to get rid of me."

Verity reached out and took Veronica's hand. She squeezed it gently. "Thanks," she said.

"You're going to be fine," said Veronica. "Is Cass coming?"

"If this is leading up to a 'shotgun wedding' joke I'm going to punch you right in the face," said Verity.

"Hey, I don't get to make wedding jokes that often," said Veronica. "I've got to make the most of it. Do you know how many weddings I get invited to? _Not many_."

"I wonder why."

Veronica mock-scowled at her. "Anyway, no, it wasn't even going in that direction. I know you two argued about something a while back."

Verity smiled regretfully. "No one holds a grudge like Cass," she said. "Yeah, I invited her. I – I hope she comes."

"Did you mention the phrase 'open bar' at any point?" Veronica asked. "I really feel like that'd tip the balance in your favour. So the whole gang's going to be back together?"

"Yeah," said Verity. "Maybe. I don't remember where ED-E is, though. I think he's around here somewhere." She paused, frowning. "Hey, do you think nightkin need extra strong chairs? Because I don't have any."

"Hmm," said Veronica, her brow creasing. "I would say if they were going to be sitting then yeah, probably. _But, _they are also incredibly good at standing motionless for several hours at a time. While being invisible." Her eyes widened. "Okay, okay, imagine this. They're sitting on a chair, right, invisible, and then some poor soul tries to sit down on what looks like an empty chair and sits on the nightkin. You didn't invite Keane, did you?"

Veronica laughed. "I knew I forgot someone," she said, rolling her eyes. "You know, I'm surprised that invisible nightkin don't get sat on more often. That really seems like it'd happen a lot."

"It does, doesn't it?" said Veronica. "Anyway, just wanted to check everything's going okay. You need anything? It's almost time."

"Nope," said Verity. "I, um, think I'm done here."

"Let's go down then," said Veronica.

Verity cast her an apprehensive glance in the mirror. "Alright," she said, biting her lip.

"Lipstick!" snapped Veronica.

"_Damn_ it," said Verity, leaning forward to retouch it and wipe the pink smudges off her teeth. "Fuck. Okay, _now_ we can go."

She followed Veronica as she led them out of the Lucky 38, and across the road to the King's casino. They followed a stretch of red carpet as it wound through the casino rooms and out to the back garden.

"Last chance," said Veronica, one hand on the door handle.

"Oh my god," said Verity. "Fuck you."

Veronica smiled and held the door open wide for her to walk through.

The red carpet continued out into the courtyard, people seated on either side of it. The King was standing at the other end of the carpet, on a raised platform. Palm trees lined either side, unmoving in the still air.

And there was Boone, at the front, turning back to look at her. He was holding himself in that way he had when he was expecting something to happen – stiff back and tense shoulders, and the way he was looking over his shoulder made her think he might not have been expecting her to show up at all. She smiled, again, and looked down at her hands.

She could feel people's eyes on her as she began to walk. The faces were a blur that she could only recognise a few of – Arcade, looking uncomfortable out of his labcoat; Stark, who gave her a crooked smile; Lily and Pearl and Betsy, Ten and Charlie, the Nashs from Primm and the doctor who'd patched her up so long ago; Swank, _with Cass_ – her eyes snapped back to double check, but it was her – and then she was somehow standing up the front. Boone took her hand. She squeezed back tightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the King. "We're here today to celebrate a very special union. You know, wise men say that only fools rush in."

"Don't look so surprised," she whispered, as the King kept talking.

"Wasn't sure you'd make it," he said.

"You're not getting out of this that easy," she said out the side of her mouth.

He ducked his head, smiling. "You okay?"

"Freaking out a little."

"Mm," he said. "That's normal."

She cleared her throat to cover her laugh.

"You two finished?" The King was looking down at them.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You're one hard-headed woman," he said.

The turned to Boone. "If you're ready – do you take this woman to be your wedded wife?"

"I do," said Boone.

"And do you take this man to be your wedded husband?"

"Yes," she said. "I mean, I do."

"Then, by the power vested in me by this casino I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

Verity's eyes darted towards the people watching them, but Boone took her face in his hands.

"Don't look at them," he said. "Look at me." And he leaned forward to kiss her gently.

She closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and dimly she was aware of people cheering behind her, but it was all background noise to the feeling of his lips against hers. When it was over, she opened her eyes to see his green eyes looking back at her softly.

"So let's have a party!" said the King. "You both got a lot of livin' to do."

The crowd stood up and began to disperse, and she turned back to look at them.

"I'm going to go talk to Betsy and Ten for a minute," he said. "Won't be long."

"It's alright," she said, smiling. "I've got some catching up to do as well."

She made her way towards Lily.

"I can't believe how fast you've grown up," said Lily, enveloping her in a crushing hug. "I'm so proud of my little girl.

"Yeah," said Verity. "Me neither, really. There were a lot of things that all kind of happened at once."

"You're going to be fine," Lily said, comfortingly.

"You're sticking around Jacobstown, right?" asked Verity. "I mean, it'd be nice having you around at least sort of close by. I don't know shit about babies."

"Language," Lily said, mildly. Well, I'd thought about taking a trip back west. It's been so long since I've been back. Just a sightseeing trip. I'd maybe like to see the Cathedral again. "

"Oh," said Verity. "I think, uh, _Dog_ wanted to go see some church. If you're going, he might want to come along."

"If you need my help, dearie, I can put it off for another year or two. You see time so much differently when you're – like this. It doesn't matter. And I'd love to see a great-grandchild."

Verity grinned and hugged Lily again. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Now you run along," said Lily. "I remember when I got married, I didn't get to sit down for hours, I was just rushed off my feet all day. Go on, now."

Verity smiled at her gratefully and moved inside, following the rest of the crowd. She spotted Raul, standing near the bar and made her way towards him.

"Thing about being a ghoul, boss," he said, as she came up next to him. "Is that it takes a lot of effort to get drunk. The old, uh, metabolism doesn't work the way it used to, I guess."

"That, uh, that's awful," she said. "So, like, how much effort are we talking? Are you going to make me regret asking for an open bar?"

"We'll see," he said. "I'm working on it as we speak."

She laughed. "Thanks for coming," she said.

"What, you thought I might have something better to do?" he asked.

"Well," she said. "You have disappeared without warning. Not that I really blame you for that." She frowned.

"But you just keep on bringing it up anyway."

"You know what I like about you?" she asked. "Is that you're not afraid to be a straight up asshole to my face. I'm not even being sarcastic, that's actually something I miss when you're not around."

He looked down into his glass. "I'm sorry if you think I'm being an asshole," he said. "That's not what I intend. Just calling you out a little for some of the things you say."

"No, that's what I meant," she said. "You know who else around here does that? No one."

He looked back up at her with a wry smile. "Glad to be of service, then."

"And if you ever want to go back to the Big Empty I still have the transportal gun thing."

"Boss?" he said. "I'm never going anywhere with you ever again. I'm an old man and I don't need that much excitement. Let me enjoy my old age in peace."

"Jesus," she laughed. "Fine. But I'll be around, okay? Come visit or something."

"Whatever you say, boss," he said. "See you round."

She turned away, smiling, but it faded slowly as she saw Cass, standing in a small group with Swank, Veronica, and Christine. She began to walk towards them slowly. As she arrived, Veronica caught hold of Swank's arm and tugged him away, Christine in tow. Cass turned towards her.

"Hey," she said, looking at Verity cautiously. "Been a while, huh?"

"Yeah," said Verity. "It – it really has. Thanks for coming."

"Congratulations," said Cass, stiffly. "You know. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." Verity hesitated for a moment. "I regret it," she said. "What – what my life was like before. A lot."

Cass' lips curved in an almost-smile. "I know," she said. "Really."

"And – thanks for coming along to – well, any of the stupid places I ever took you."

"Well, then, thank you for saving my ass on that trip up north," said Cass.

"Thanks for taking me to the shadiest fucking dive bar in every town we went."

"I've got a nose for them," Cass said. "You just develop it if you're on the road for any length of time." She paused. "Jesus, I've missed you."

Verity grinned. "I've missed you too," she said.

Cass laughed. "Shit, I leave you alone for ten minutes and next thing I know, you're pregnant and getting married. See, this is why you need me around. Guidance."

Verity took a step forward and hugged her. "I'm still a little terrified about the 'pregnant' part," she said, before stepping back.

"Don't blame you," said Cass. "Look, I just wanted to get this one thing out of the way – there is no way I'm changing diapers. Ever."

"This is a hundred percent what I wanted to be talking about at my wedding," said Verity. "So thank you for that."

"Just keeping you grounded," said Cass. "No thanks necessary."

"You're a straight up bitch," Verity said back. "And you're amazing." She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice. "So are you and Swank a thing now?"

Cass wrinkled her nose. "We're – _kind of_ a thing."

At that moment, Swank appeared from what seemed like thin air and wrapped an arm around Cass' waist. "We're totally a thing," he said, confidently.

"_Fine_." Cass rolled her eyes. "We're _maybe_ totally a thing."

"You're next," whispered Verity. "Watch out."

"Get fucked," Cass whispered back.

Verity laughed, and then turned to Swank. "Oh, um, hey. Sorry about – you know. Benny."

Swank shrugged. "Eh. Pulling that on you – kind of had it coming."

She smiled uncomfortably. "He's an alright guy," she said. "Except when he really, really isn't."

"Yeah," said Swank. "That's him all over. Always pulling some kind of crazy stunt. More often than not it ends badly. Anyway, I'm sure he's fine. That cat has a way of landing on his feet."

They turned, distracted, as a four piece band walked onto the stage. After a moment, the King walked out and took his place at the front.

Verity found herself clutching Veronica's arm tightly in excitement.

"Could I get the bride and groom out onto the floor for the first dance?" he said, then signalled the band to start playing.

Verity spun, searching for Boone in the crowd. He stepped forward a little too fast and a little too off-balance, like someone had pushed him.

The King began to sing as she walked towards Boone and took hold of his hand.

"_Ho-o-old me close, hold me tight make me thrill with delight."_

"I'm – not much of a dancer," said Boone.

"_Neither_," hissed Verity. "I just – okay, I think your hand goes _here-_"She put his hand on her hip. "And then my hand goes on your shoulder, and then our other hands go together and we just kind of, I don't know, walk around together really slowly and try to go the same way?"

"_Let me know where I stand from the start."_

She grinned up at him. "See, not too hard," she said.

"_I want you, I need you, I love you, with all my heart."_

"I'm just trying not to step on your feet at this stage," he said.

She laughed. "You're doing great."

"_E-e-e-every time that you're near, all my cares disappear."_

"Didn't think I'd be doing this again," he said, after a moment.

"What, dancing? Or getting m- oh." Her eyes widened. "Shit. You – are you okay?"

His gaze flicked up, and for a moment he was looking at something far in the distance. "You know what?" he said. "Yeah. I think so."

She shifted her hand from his shoulder up to his face. "Well, okay," she said, frowning. "If you need to take some time out or something let me know, okay?"

He smiled at her gently. "Okay," he said.

_"But now I know that I-I-I will go on loving you ete-e-ernally."_

"Well. Never thought I'd be getting married sober," she said, after a moment. "So I guess today is kind of a surprise for both of us."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's not funny," he said. "Watch yourself."

She leaned into him. "It's _so _funny," she said. "Don't you try and pretend it's not."

"And this is what the rest of my life is going to be like."

She grinned. "That's right," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Your last chance to get out of this has just left the building."

He lowered his hands to her waist, and looked down at her. "Guess I could live with that," he said.

Her grin widened, and she pulled herself up on tiptoes to kiss him.


	85. But All My Trials Lord Will Soon Be Over

Verity was in the kitchen when she heard the knock on the door. She dropped the dishcloth in her hand and threaded through the rooms to the front door to open it.

"Howdy, stranger," said Cass. "Been a while, huh?"

"Son of a bitch," said Verity, grinning. "It really has." She pushed the door open. "Come in! We'll have drinks. You want to stay the night?"

"Well, I was planning on heading into Boulder," said Cass. "But if you're offering-"

"We have about a thousand rooms," said Verity, shaking her head. "Come on, you're staying. And you don't want to make the trip to Boulder City wasted, anyway. That's a long way to walk."

"How many drinks are we planning on having?" Cass asked, stepping inside.

"Like a million?" Verity said. "I don't get to drink much these days. You better believe I'm going to make the most of it."

Cass grinned. "Alright. I'll stay as a special favour."

"That's more like it," said Verity. "I'll grab the whiskey."

Cass was looking around. "I like what you've done with the place."

Verity followed her gaze. The double staircases on either side of the House Resort lobby had been polished until they shone, and the chipped tiles on the floor had been replaced.

"Hey, is that-" Cass didn't finish the sentence, walking into a room off the side of the lobby. She came to a stop in front of a large framed photograph.

Verity stood beside her. "Yeah," she said. "That's House." The painting showed a man, in a dark blazer and white trousers, standing in front of two huge metal legs.

"Little morbid, isn't it?" asked Cass quietly.

Verity sighed. "It was there when we got here," she said. "And I keep it there to remind me where I came from. And – some of the mistakes I've made."

"You think killing House was a mistake?"

Verity was still staring at the painting. "I don't know," she said. "And I don't think I'll ever know. If I hadn't – maybe things would be better. Maybe things would be worse."

Cass looked at her sidelong. "You should take it down," she said. "It's gonna mess with your head up there."

"Maybe," said Verity. "That's what Craig says. Anyway. Drinks."

Cass followed Verity around to the kitchen, off the lobby on the right, and watched as she reached up to the top shelf. She brought down a bottle of whiskey and raised an eyebrow.

"You know me so well," said Cass.

"Nothing but the best for my favourite girl."

"Aww," said Cass. "Am I really your favourite?"

"Well, Ronnie and Christine were around a couple weeks back," said Verity. "I quite like them too." She picked up two glasses and handed them to Cass to carry.

"Oh, they're still together?" Cass asked. "Good. How's Veronica doing with her – whole Brotherhood thing?"

"I don't think she spends much time down in the bunkers," said Verity, leading Cass out of the room and up the stairs.

"Don't blame her," said Cass. "Don't they get claustrophobic down there? I couldn't handle it."

Verity pushed open the double doors leading out to the balcony. There were two chairs and a small table on the balcony, overlooking Lake Mead. The sun was setting behind them, turning the sky red and purple. She set the bottle down on the table and took a seat, as the suns dying rays sparkled off the water.

"Hell of a view," said Cass.

"Yeah." Verity grinned. "Think that's the thing I like most about this place." She poured whiskey into the two glasses.

Cass accepted one of them. "It's been too long since I was here last," she said. "I always forget how beautiful it is."

"Sometimes I forget too," said Verity. "It can take someone else appreciating it to really point it out."

"I heard Lily went east," said Cass.

"Yeah," said Verity. "While back. I'm not quite sure what she's looking for, but – I hope she finds it."

"Yeah," said Cass, taking a long swallow of her whiskey. "So. Guess who I saw last time I was in New Reno."

Verity looked at her curiously. "Who?"

Cass shook her head. "No, seriously, you're going to have to guess."

Verity pressed her lips together.

"He asked about you, you know."

"Did-" Verity cleared her throat. "Did he? How – uh, how's he – he doing?"

"He said, give her my best."

Verity blinked rapidly. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. He's got some kind of job – he says it's a not scam, but I don't know – something to do with – what are those things? Wanamingos or something?"

"Jesus," said Verity. "I have no idea what that even is."

"I remember my dad telling me stories about them when I was little," said Cass. "They sounded fucking weird. Glad I never ran into any."

"If you see him again – can you tell him that – that I'm sorry things turned out this way?"

"He's doing fine," said Cass, rolling her eyes. "That asshole can look after himself. Seriously."

Verity looked down at her hands. "I still miss him sometimes."

"That's fucked up," said Cass.

"Yeah, I know," Verity acknowledged. "Doesn't make it any less true. But – don't tell him about that bit. Just that – I wish him all the luck in the world. And not to get into too much trouble. That boy always liked to push his luck."

"He has this look when he talks about you, you know?" Cass said. "He-"

"I don't want to know," said Verity. "Please. It's just better if I don't."

"You always had that weird soft spot for him," said Cass.

"Y-yeah," said Verity, reaching for her drink. "I don't really understand. Still – I'm glad he's doing okay. Asshole."

"Cat always lands on his feet," said Cass.

"Ugh," said Verity. "That sounds like something he'd say."

"It was."

Verity rolled her eyes. "Of course it was." She shook her head, and looked down to check her watch. "Almost time for dinner. Come downstairs with me, I need to get everyone inside."

Cass made sure to refill both of their glasses almost to the brim before following Verity back down the stairs and out the front door.

"Libby!" Verity yelled out. "Gabe?"

There was an answering howl in the distance.

"Come on!" she called.

Cass smiled. "I bet your dog loves it out here."

Verity looked out over the sun-scorched hills. "Yeah. Lot of space. He hates being cooped up, after – well, after all that time in the fucking dark in the Big Empty." She frowned. "Poor baby. Things are better for him here. We generally have to keep him away from the bighorners, though. That sonic bark thing he does scares the shit out of them. Craig wanted him to be able to round them up but it's not good for them to basically be a terrified huddling mass, apparently."

Cass shook her head. "It's fucked up, the things you have to worry about."

"As opposed to the things I used to have to worry about?" she asked, then turned her head suddenly. "_Hey!_"

Gabe was running towards them. There was a small child on his back, clutching handfuls of his fur, her blonde hair blowing in the wind.

"Get _down_ from there!" Verity yelled. "I have told you a million times!"

The dog slowed and sank to the ground, ears flattened.

The girl slid down to the ground, and looked up at Verity with baleful green eyes. She had bare feet, and her dress fluttered in the breeze. "Why?"

"Because it's dangerous, Libby," said Verity. "If you fell off you could hurt yourself."

"Gabe wouldn't let me fall," Libby said.

Verity rolled her eyes. "_I've_ fallen off him before, okay? You can ride him when you're a bit bigger."

"Maybe you weren't as good at riding as I am."

Verity took a deep breath. Behind her, she could hear Cass making a choking sound. "Could you go inside, please?" she said. "And wash your hands, we'll be having dinner soon."

"Who's that?" she pointed to Cass, who pressed her lips together and smiled innocently.

"Don't you remember Aunty Cass?" Verity asked. "I guess the last time you saw her was a while back."

Libby shook her head vehemently, gripping the hem of her dress with both hands. "Is she married to uncle Raul?"

"N-no," said Verity. "I'll explain later, alright? Inside."

With one last, mistrustful, glance at Cass, she trotted inside.

"Oh, my god," said Cass.

"Don't you even fucking say a word." Verity glared at her.

"She's just like you!" Cass crowed.

"You mean like a little shit?" asked Verity. "What the fuck am I going to do, she's only _four_."

"Imagine what she'll be like as a teenager!"

"I really don't want to," said Verity.

"I'm kidding," said Cass, grinning. "She's going to grow up not taking shit from anyone. That's one of the most important things you can teach a girl out here."

Verity smiled.

"She looks like Boone," said Cass.

"Got his eyes," said Verity. "I'm expecting her hair to darken up, but, you never know, might not."

"Liberty," said Cass, quietly.

"It's cheesy as shit," said Verity. "But once I heard the name I couldn't get it out of my head."

"It's cute."

"You honestly don't have to pretend," said Verity.

"No, seriously. Libby. It's nice."

Verity put her glass down on the edge of a concrete planter and walked down the stone ramp towards Gabe. "And don't think I've forgotten about you, buddy," she said.

He whined.

"Don't give me that shit," she said.

"Does he really understand you?" asked Cass.

"Course," said Verity. "Always has."

"Make him do something."

"Um. Okay. Roll over?"

Gabe rolled onto his back obligingly.

"What if you, like, tried to stand up on your back legs or something?" she asked.

He lifted one huge paw off the ground, then the other, and then growled.

"It's fine," said Verity. "You don't have to if it's too hard."

He wagged his tail.

"Good boy," said Verity. "I'll be out later. You need another walk?"

He lay down again, and rested his head on his paws.

Verity grinned. "She wore you out too, huh? I'll come feed you in a couple of hours, then."

They watched as he trotted away, wagging his tail.

"That thing is a monster," said Cass.

"He's a sweet little puppy and I won't let anyone tell me otherwise," replied Verity, grinning.

"Who's cooking this dinner, anyway?" asked Cass, glancing back towards the building.

"Oh, Christ," said Verity. "We got a goddamn robot. I think it's a Mr Handy? Cooks better than I do. Not quite as well as Craig does, but-"

"He cooks now?" Cass asked with a grin.

"Yeah, loves it," said Verity. "Always has, I think. I feel like it's kind of relaxing for him."

Cass raised a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun. "Is that him coming down over there?" She pointed out to the left, past the old water pipe that led to the lake.

Verity squinted. "Yeah," she said. "Think so. That's some good eyesight you got there."

"Well, in my business you need it," said Cass.

They watched as he made his way up towards them. He raised a hand in greeting when he saw Cass, and when he made it up to the house he reached out a hand. "Cass," he said. "Been a while."

Cass shook it. "Boone," she replied. "Good to see you."

He took a step closer to Verity and put an arm around her. He paused. "You smell like whiskey," he said.

"I can't even deal with you people and your enhanced senses," said Verity. "I just can't." She laughed as he gave her waist a squeeze.

"You're staying tonight?" he asked, turning to Cass.

"Sure am," she said.

"Good. You got a room set up yet?"

"No," said Verity. "Kind of forgot."

"I'll get it set up," he said. "Don't stay out here too long." He gave Verity a quick kiss before heading inside. She have his hand a squeeze, and smiled after him as he walked into the house.

"You like it out here?" asked Cass, after a moment.

"Yeah. Craig worried that I'm going to be bored or something, but, you know. Always stuff to do. We get a lot of visitors, too."

"How's _he_ doing?"

"He loves this place," said Verity. "So big and empty and quiet. He's the kind of person that needs a lot of space. And there's a lot of it out here. And not much else."

Cass cocked her head. "You don't sound like you love it."

Verity smiled. "Well - I don't know. I guess it's a little quiet sometimes. I mean, I love Craig and Libs and Gabe, and I couldn't imagine life without them. And I love how beautiful this place is, and the way the wind sounds in the grass and how you can see all the stars at night and how so many people I love come and stay. And we get back to the Strip every now and then, and Boulder, and sometimes a little further away. Still haven't risked heading too far into NCR territory, but I make trips back to the Big Empty with Arcade pretty often." She looked out over the lake, to the eastern hills. "Christ, it was a crazy few years."

"You ever think about heading back out there?" Cass asked, after a moment. "Sounds like you've got a case of itchy feet."

"Yeah." Verity smiled. "Sometimes. Have to be something big to get me back out, though."

"Tell you what," said Cass. "If I run into the next big adventure, I'll send a courier here with a note for you."

Verity turned to her with a grin. "Might have to take you up on that," she said. "But – then again – maybe not."

* * *

I honestly wasn't sure I would ever come to this point. Oh my god I am actually freaking out a bit about this being the last chapter! This has been a huge part of my life for a good three years now, and I want to say thank you so much to everyone that has read it, favourited it, or reviewed it, because I don't think I would have kept going without the support that I got from you guys. I actually love you all. I have learned a lot about writing and building a story and somehow I have made it this far without ever writing a chapter plan! This whole thing was basically winging it. I have also made some great friends. It's been absolutely unforgettable. I'm on tumblr if you'd like to keep in touch! Address in profile.

A few last stats:

Wordcount: 268,828  
Chapters: 121  
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**The end.**


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